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BURTON  HOLMES 
TRAVELOGUES 


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SWITZERLAND 


BURTON  HOLMES 
TRAVELOGUES 


ou,  6x>1 !  -to  tttlv  comjxnxtoa»  ^v.  a 


ENGLAND 


BURTON  HOLMES 
TRAVELOGUES 

WHITE  HOUSE,  PUBLISHERS 

CHICAGO 

Copyright,  1922,  by  E.  Burton  Holmes 
All  rights  reserved 


ENGLAND 


2056055 


NGLAND 


BRITAIN  emerged  from  the 
World  War  as  Greater  Britain.  The  British 
Empire  stood  the  strenuous  test.  Britons  fought  and 
won  like  Britons.  Britannia's  ruling  of  the  war-time  waves  was 
glorious  and  just.  Civilization  owes  an  increased  debt  of  grati- 
tude to  her  British  champions  —  the  English,  Scottish,  Irish,  Welsh, 
Canadian,  Australian,  and  Colonial  sons  of  Greater  Britain.  Nobly 
they  bore  themselves  —  splendid  in  their  dauntlessness,  undismayed 
in  defeat,  magnanimous  in  victory. 

It  is  therefore  with  a  new  and  more  sympathetic  interest  that  we 
turn  to  a  consideration  of  the  British  Isles — the  little  archipelago 
that  has  mothered  the  most  masterful  of  modern  races  —  the 
English-speaking,  peace-loving,  fair-fighting,  and  unconquerable  race 


ENGLAND 


that  has  extended  its  dominion  around  the  world  and,  through  its 
American  kindred,  has  created  in  the  United  States  the  richest  and 
most  powerful  of  modern  nations. 

England  is  not  Great  Britain.  England  is  not  the  British  Empire, 
but  England  is  and  must  remain  the  heart  and  soul  of  the  world- wide 
federation  of  free  peoples  who  speak  her  language,  cherish  her  ideals, 
and  give  her  loyal,  respectful,  self-respecting,  and  intelligent  alle- 
giance. 

There  is  something  thoroughbred  about  England,  something  that 
men  of  other  nations  are  impelled  to  admire  and  respect  even  though 
they  may  resent  and  pretend  to  ridicule  it.  Nowhere  in  the  world  is 
there  a  land  so  rich  in  gentlemen. 

The  country  itself  is  as  well-groomed  in  appearance  as  the  English 
gentleman.  You  may  search  Kipling's  Orient  from  Bombay  to 
Mandalay  and  fail  to  find  a  "greener,  cleaner  land"  than  England. 

Not  very  verdant,  however,  are  the  cliffs  that  mark  the  place 
where,  in  one  sense,  England  begins  —  Land's  End.  But  those  cliffs 
are  clean,  washed  by  the  waves  and  swept  by  the  winds  of  the  Atlantic. 
Land's  End  is,  literally,  one  of  the  ends  of  England.  It  is  the  western- 
most extremity  of  Cornwall, 
which  county  is  itself 
a  great  peninsula, 
seventy-five  miles 
in  length,  jut- 
ting westward 
from  t  he 
southern 
edge  of 
England. 

Once 
upon    a 
time 
Cornwall 
stretched 


A    GOOD    PLACi 
TO    HK.1N 


ENGLAND 


LAND  S  END 


farther  westward. 
The  Scilly  Isles, 
now  twenty -five 
miles  off  Land's 
End,  once  formed 
a  part  of  the  Cor- 
nish  mainland. 
The  intervening 
region  vanished 
centuries  ago.  It 
was  known  as  the 
"Land  of  Lyon- 
esse."  According 
to  the  ancient 
chronicles,  that 
legendary  coun- 
try, with  its  hun- 


THE    WESTERNMOST   CLIFFS   OF   CORNWALL 


8  ENGLAND 

dred  and  forty  parishes,  its  cities,  towns,  and  villages,  its  smiling 
fields  and  wonderful  old  castles,  sank  out  of  sight  beneath  the  waves. 
In  one  of  those  now  submerged  Cornish  castles  dwelt  and  ruled  the 
patient  old  King  Mark,  whose  young  bride,  the  fair  Iseult  of  Ireland, 
became  enamoured  of  the  brave  knight  Tristram -the  messenger 
sent  by  the  aged  King  to  bring  her  from  her  Irish  home  across  the 
Channel.  Wagner  has  told  of  that  great  love  in  "Tristan  and  Isolde." 


WHERE   THE    SEA   TAKES  TOM. 


We  are  assured  that  the  story  of  the  sunken  land  of  Lyonesse  is  not 
all  legend.  There  are  proofs  evident  and  visible  that  sections  of  this 
coast  have  risen  and  fallen  in  the  course  of  ages.  Just  as  the  Norman 
coast  near  Mont  St.  Michel  has  changed  its  level,  so  too  the  coast  of 
Cornwall  near  that  curiously  similar  church-crowned  island  called 
St.  Michael's  Mount,  is  known  to  have  been  subject  to  mysterious 


ENGLAND 


ST.  MICHAEL'S  MOUNT 


and  yet  perfectly  natural  risings  and  fallings  which  to  geologists  are 
not  at  all  astonishing. 

St.  Michael's  Mount  is  best  known  to  fame  as  the  stronghold  of 
the  grim  giant  Cormoran,  who  to  the  delight  of  every  boy  we  ever 


THE    LITTLE    TOWN    OF    LOOK 


I0  ENGLAND 

knew,  was  slain  gloriously  by  that  prince  of  our  boyhood  heroes,  Jack 
the  Giant  Killer. 

The  whole  south  coast  of  England  is  one  long  stretch  of  beauty. 
Bold  cliffs,  softly  rounded  and  carefully  cultivated  hills,  long  level 
beaches  of  clean  wholesome  sands,  pretty  little  towns,  beautiful  big 
villages,  picturesque  seaport  cities  -  all  these  attractions  combine  or 


1LFRACOMBE 


ENGLAND 


ii 


THE    BRISTOL   CHANNEL 


alternate  in  giving  to  the  English  Riviera  a  charming,  comfortable 
beauty  all  its  own. 

The  climate  is  astonishingly  mild  —  even  in  winter  when  the  rest 
of  England  shivers,  the  sunny  south  coast  is  often  bathed  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  sunshine  and  warmth  reminiscent  of  the  Mediterranean 
Riviera  in  the  south  of  France. 

For  the  traveler  who  does  not  love  the  sea,  the  south  of  England 
offers  the  inland  delights  of  Devonshire,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of 
all  the  English  counties.  As  we  traverse  its  deep-cut  lanes  and  peer 
through  garden  gates  at  impossibly  picturesque  thatched  cottages,  we 
begin  to  understand  why  Englishmen  are  always  talking  about  the 
delights  of  a  week-end  "down  in  Devon." 

To  go  "down  in  Devon"  is  to  go  deep  into  the  heart  of  beautiful 
old  England.  Or,  if  the  traveler  wishes  to  combine  the  calm  joys  of 
inland  Devon  with  the  exhilaration  of  sea  breezes  he  will  find  at 
Ilfracombe  an  ideal  place  of  sojourn.  The  word  "combe"  means 


12 


ENGLAND 


IN   QUAINT   CLOVELLY 


"a  hollow  between  steep  hills" — and  Ilfracombe  lies  between  steep 
hills,  and,  backed  by  steep  hills,  it  looks  out  on  the  dancing  waves  of 
the  Bristol  Channel. 

Not  far  away  —  some  twenty  miles  or  so  —  there  is  an  even  love- 
lier north  Devon  beauty  spot.     Its 
name  is  as  pretty  as  the  place 
itself—  Clovelly.   Clovelly  is 
one  of  the  most  charming 
little  places  in  all  Eng- 
land.  According  to  the 
guide    book,   only    six 
hundred   and   twenty  - 
one  persons  enjoy  the 
privilege  of  dwelling 
in  Clovelly,  but  thou- 
sands of   other  per- 
sons come  to  Clovelly 

CLOVELLY  FROM  THE  PIER 


ENGLAND  13 

every  season  to  enjoy  the  hospitality  of  its  pretty  white  houses  with 
their  bright  green  doors  and  lattices  opening  upon  the  one  and  only 
street  of  this  delightful  village.  The  street  is  almost  like  a  flight  of 
stairs  with,  at  the  top,  the  high  green  hills  of  Devon  and  at  the 
bottom  the  deep  blue  waters  of  Bideford  Bay. 

Hospitality  is  the  profession  of  Clovelly.     The  brewing  and  serv- 
ing of  tea  is  the  chief  local  industry.     The  entertainment  and  refresh- 


CLOVELLV  READY  FOR  THE  TOURIST  INVASION 


I4  ENGLAND 

ment  of  the  passing  stranger  is  the  end  and  aim  of  nearly  every  native 
of  the  village.  Clovelly  is  always  glad  to  see  the  passing  stranger. 
The  stranger  — unless  he  is  insensible  to  the  appeal  of  beauty  and 
the  lure  of  local  good-will  - 
is  always  glad  to  see 
Clovelly. 

It  is  worth 
while   t  o 
linger   in 
a    place 
like    this 
and  watch 
the  passing 
procession  of 
visitors  —  the 
little  crowds  of 
busy    trippers  that 

COnie  and  gO  from  day  to  day.  THE  ONE  AND  ONLY  STREET 


UP  STAIRS    AND  DOWN  IN  CLOVELLY 


ENGLAND  15 

One  day's  enthusiastic  audience  is  very  like  another's.  Everyone 
seems  to  say  and  do  the  very  same  things  that  everyone  else  has 
said  and  done  here,  day  after  day,  since  tripping  to  pretty  places 
by  the  sea  became  the  pastime  of  the  British  people. 

The  traveler  who  "stays  over"  for  a  few  days  finds  an  easy  road  to 
distinction.  He  acquires  the  dignity  of  an  old  settler;  visitors  look 
up  to  him  as  an  authority  on  local  sights.  He  becomes  the  familiar 


ALONO    THE    ENGLISH    RIVIERA 


friend  of  the  elect  six  hundred  and  twenty-one  citizens  of  this  tiny 
show  place.  He  discovers  the  home  of  the  housewife  who  brews  the 
best  tea  —  the  haunt  of  the  tenderest  of  all  the  toasted  muffins  —  the 
source  of  the  most  marvellous  of  all  the  local  marmalades  and  jams. 
He  may,  it  is  true,  tire  of  the  local  cuisine.  But  after  a  summer  of 
travel  along  the  byways  of  Britain  it  is  our  impression  that  the  local 
cuisine  of  one  town  is  the  universal  cuisine  of  the  country.  Every- 


i6 


ENGLAND 


where,  every  day,  bacon  and  eggs  for  breakfast.  Good  bacon  and 
good  eggs,  but  always  bacon  and  eggs  —  and  porridge  —  the  latter 
not  appealing  to  the  Yankee  palate.  Everywhere,  every  day,  for 
luncheon,  cold  joint  and  a  boiled  potato.  For  dinner,  hot  joint  and 
a  boiled  potato.  One  comes  to  dread  the  "twice  daily"  of  the  inevit- 
able boiled  potato.  Every  day  for  seven  weeks  — and  there  are 
forty-nine  days  in  seven  weeks  —  we  met  that  British  boiled  potato 
twice  daily  —  at  luncheon  and  at  dinner.  That  totaled  ninety-eight 


nOWN    IN     DEVON 


meetings.  Of  course,  we  have  nothing  against  the  boiled  potato  as 
a  boiled  potato;  but  as  a  daily  diet  —  that  is  another  story.  But 
Britons  don't  appear  to  mind  —  nor  to  suspect  that  a  dash  of  variety 
in  potato  matters  might  not  come  amiss. 

When  we  ventured  to  express  ourselves  in  the  hearing  of  an  Eng- 
lish lady,  concerning  this,  to  us,  inexplicable  monotony  of  fare  she 
looked  at  us  in  wonder,  and  inquired,  "But  how  would  one  cook  a 
potato  if  one  didn't  boil  it?"  —  and  then,  while  we  were  trying  to 


ENGLAND 


find  an  answer,  she  added,  with  a  flash  of  inspiration  —  "or  bake  it?" 
We  suggested  that  in  our  humble  opinion,  a  potato  might,  without 
disrupting  the  British  Empire  or  disturbing  the  Entente  Cordiale, 
be  served  German  fried,  mashed,  French  fried,  saute,  hashed  brown, 


THE    BEACH  OF   MANY  COSY  CORNERS 


lg  ENGLAND 

stewed  in  cream,  hashed  au  gratin,  Lyonnaise,  souffle,  rissole  -  or 
even  in  the  form  of  crisp  Saratoga  chips.  The  lady  looked  at  us  as 
if  to  say,  "Dear  me,  these  mad  Americans"  -  and  proceeded  to  do 
her  duty  by  the  standardized  boiled  potato,  which  had  impelled  us 
to  the  above  outburst  of  suggestions. 

In  justice  to  the  British  provincial  cuisine  it  must  be  said  that 


ON  THE   SILVER    SANDS 


the  joints  are  good  joints  and  the  potatoes  good  potatoes  —  it's  the 
deadly  monotony  of  the  fare  that  is  depressing. 

But  there  is  no  monotony  in  the  feast  of  beauty  that  is  spread 
before  the  traveler  in  the  south  of  England.  The  exquisitely  finished 
aspect  of  the  country,  the  absence  of  industrial  scars,  the  picturesque- 
ness  of  the  old-time  towns  and  villages  make  touring  a  delight.  And 
yet  strong  indeed  must  be  the  traveler's  "wanderlust"  to  keep  him 
on  the  move  in  England  when  there  are  so  many  charming  places  that 


ENGLAND 


invite  him  to  lay  aside  his  pil- 
grim staff,  and  settle  down 
to  spend  the  season. 

Let  him  beware 
the   lure    of   Tor- 
q  u  ay  with  its 
semi-tropical, 
palm  bordered 
streets  and  its  rocky, 


cosy  corners  on  the 
beach.  Let  him 
be  strong  to  resist 
the  joyous  tempta- 
tions of  the  silver 
sands  at  Weymouth, 
or  at  Bournemouth. 
Let  him  be 
wise 


SUMMER    JOYS 


20 


ENGLAND 


enough  not  to  yield  to  the  sophisticated  citified  attractions  of 
Brighton  and  the  other  seaside  suburbs  of  overcrowded  London. 
Let  the  true  traveler  avoid  "resorts"  and  hie  him  to  the  interest- 
ing towns  and  lesser  cities  of  old  England  where  her  great  Cathedrals 


rise  like  glorious   and  beautiful  reminders  of  a   calmer  and  more 
restful  age. 

Typical  of  many  other  medieval  English  towns,  but  with  a  charm- 
ing "Early  English"  atmosphere  all  its  own,  is  Salisbury,  the  county 
town  of  Wiltshire.  There  we 
may  lunch  in  good  old  Eng- 
lish  fashion  at  a  famous 
tavern  at  the  ap- 
petizing sign  of 
"The  Haunch  of 
Venison."  From 
its  windows  we 
may  feast  our 
eyes  upon  the 


THE    roULTRT    CROSS 


ENGLAND 


21 


quaint    design   of    the    old    Poultry 
Cross  —  a    market    cross     much 
more  elaborate  than  those  we 
find  in  other  English  towns. 
The  curious  structure 
marked  the  center  of  the 
old-time    market    where 
earlier  generations  of  Wilt- 
shire   folk    trafficked    in 
cackling  hens  and  crow- 
ing   roosters.      Its    arches 
doubtless   sheltered  many  a 
worthy  housewife  of  ye  olden 
time  during  the  frequent  showers 
that  are  an  almost  daily  matter-of-course 
in   wet   old    England.      The  design  of  the   Poultry  Cross  is  good 
late-Gothic  —  but   the   architectural   glory   of  Salisbury,  the  great 


UNDER 
THE 
CROSS 


A    FAMOUS    TAVERN 


22 


ENGLAND 


ST.   ANNE  S  GATE 


Cathedral,  is  Early  English.  Its  spire,  the  loftiest  in  England 
—  four  hundred  and  four  feet  high  —  is  visible  for  many  miles  as  you 
approach  across  the  fairly  level  country  round  about ;  but  once  in  the 
narrow  streets  of  the  town,  the  traveler  looks  in  vain  for  its  tapering 
cross  -  crowned  tip  —  so  successfully  do  the  low  two-  and  three- 
story  buildings  of 
the  unchanging 
town  obscure  the 
most  aspiring  and 
inspiring  monu- 
ment of  Salisbury's 
pious  and  artistic 
past. 

The    great 
Church 


AFTER    SERVICE 


ENGLAND 


THE    NORTH   GATE 


rises  from  the  velvety  level  of  a  park-like  inner  minster-yard  called 
the  Cathedral  Close.  This  quiet,  restful  Close  is  shut  off  from 
the  calm  of  the  town  itself  by  walls  that  are  in  certain  places 
incorporated  in  the  mass  of  the  surrounding  structures.  Old  gates, 
each  with  a  special  character  —  one  might  almost  say  a  special 
personality  —  give  access  to  the  Close  and  as  we  pass  beneath 
the  arches  of  St.  Anne's  or  of  the  North  Gate,  we  feel  that  we  are 


24  ENGLAND 

entering  an  out-of-door  architectural  museum  of  which  the  Cathedral 
is  the  dominating  masterpiece. 

It  is  quite  fitting  that  a  grand  old  church  should  rise,  not  from  the 
midst  of  a  commerce-ridden  quarter,  but  from  the  midst  of  a  fair 


SALISBURY  CATHEDRAL 


ENGLAND 


expanse  of  Nature's 
green,  with  pretty, 
homelike  houses  set 
all  round  about,  but 
at  a  piously  respect- 
f  u  1  distance.  S  o 
does  the  Salisbury 
Cathedral  rise  in  its 
perfection,  acknowl- 
edged as  the  most 
graceful  and  sym- 
metrical of  all  the 
English  Cathedrals 
and  as  the  most 
consistently  and 
characteristically 


A   THIRTEENTH    CENTURY    PORTAL 


ENGLAND 


English    of    them    all. 
It    was    begun    in   the 
year  of  our  Lord  1220, 
and,    strange     to    say, 
completed    within    the 
brief    period    of     forty 
years.      Cathedrals  as 
a  rule  are  centuries   in 
building  but  Salis- 
bury's  famous    fane 
stands    as    a     glorious 
exception  to  the  rule  — 
a   great  Cathedral    de- 
signed,    erected,    and 
completed  within    the 
space    of    two-score 
years.     Thus    the   tap- 
ering    spire    at    which 
we     look     to-day     has 
stood   there,   lifting    its 
cross  against   the    sky, 
or    seeming    to    plunge 
it  deep    into   the    mir- 
roring   depths    of    the 
little  River  Avon   (not 
Shakespeare's  Avon, 
but    another  —  one    of 
the     several     English 
streams  that  bear  that 
familiar     name),     for 
nearly  seven  centuries. 
But    what     are     seven 
centuries   in    a  land   as 
old  as  England!    With- 


THE   LOFTIEST   OF  ENGLISH  SPIRES 


ENGLAND 


27 


in  seven  miles  of  Salisbury  there  stands  a  temple  of  worship  dating 
back  —  as  closely   as   modern  man  may  compute  its  age  —  nearly 
thirty-seven  centuries!    That  temple  is   the  most  imposing  mega- 
lithic  monument  in  Britain,  a  memorial  of  a  vanished  race,   of  a 
forgotten  faith  and  of  a  religion  unremembered. 

Stonehenge  is  a  colossal  and  enduring  mystery.     The  wise  men 
of  successive  -^••••"•"••••••^fc^       centuries    have 

striven         ^^^  ^^i        to  solve 


A    LOVE    OF    A    COTTAOE 


this  mystery,  but  in  vain.  There  is  no  authentic  record  upon 
which  to  rely.  The  name  is  said  to  be  derived  from  a  name  given 
by  the  Saxons  —  "  Stanhengist "  meaning  "Hanging  Stones." 

No  man  knows  for  what  purpose  these  great  stones  were  erected 
on  the  low  hill  that  looms  above  the  wide  and  wind-swept  Salisbury 
Plain.  Some  say  that  Stonehenge  was  a  memorial  to  four  hundred 
nobles  executed  in  the  year  472  A.  D.  Others  insist  that  it  was  the 
tomb  of  Constantine  the  Great,  first  of  Christian  Roman  Emperors 


28 


ENGLAND 


and  founder  of  Constanti- 
nople. Various  au- 
thorities equally 
worthy  of  a 
ere  dence 
assure  us 
that 
S  tone- 
h  e  n  g  e 
was  a 
Roman 
temple,  a 
Tuscan  shrine, 
a  Danish  mortu- 
ary memorial,  a  circle 
for  Druidic  serpent  worship, 
or  a  Saxon  sepulchral  sanctuary. 
But  the  theory  latest  advanced,  and  to  us  the  most  reasonable,  is 
that  Stonehenge  was  a  temple  for  the  worship  of  the  sun.  The 


STONFHENGE 


COLOSSAL  TRILITHONS 


ENGLAND 


29 


arrangement  and  orientation  of  the  mighty  blocks  suggest  that 
the  mysterious  temple  was  a  colossal  prehistoric  sun-dial  and  calen- 
dar stone,  erected  with  careful  regard  to  the  direction  of  the  sun's 
appearance  on  the  morning  of  the  summer  solstice. 

Many  of  the  monoliths  have  fallen.  One  of  the  mighty  trili- 
thons  —  a  great  gateway  formed  of  three  stones  —  collapsed  on  the 
last  day  of  the  year  1900  A.  D.  The  fall  of  another  was  recorded  a 
hundred  and  three  years  before. 

The  outer  circle  consisted  originally  of  thirty  colossal  "sarsens" 
—  supporting  gigantic  lintel  stones.  The  inner  circle  of  smaller 
"blue  stones"  has  nearly  disappeared.  Within  this  was  a  horseshoe 
of  five  huge  trilithons  and  within  this  a  lesser  horseshoe  of  nineteen 
"blue  stones." 
The  open  ends  of 
these  two  horse- 
shoes faced  the 
east.  At  some 
distance  eastward 
from  the  temple 
rises  an  isolated 
monolith  now 
called  the  "Friar's 
Heel."  It  was 
undoub t  edly 
placed  there  to 
enable  the  priests 
of  the  sun  and 
the  few  favored 
worshipers  stand- 
ing in  the  midst 
of  the  temple,  to 
sight  the  exact 
point  on  the 

A   MYSTERY   OF   YESTERDAY   A   MIRACLE   OF  TO-DAY 


30  ENGLAND 

horizon  where  the  sun  would  rise  on  the  morning  of  the  summer 
solstice.  The  traveler  standing  there  on  a  modern  midsummer 
morning  will  note  that  the  sun  rises  nearly  in  line  with  that  huge  indi- 
cating arrowhead.  Now  we  know  that  in  the  course  of  centuries, 
owing  to  astronomical  causes,  there  has  been  a  change  in  the  direc- 
tion of  that  line.  Thus  it  has  been  possible  to  compute  the  age  of 


LIKE   A    MIGHTY   PREHISTORIC    SUN-DIAL 


Stonehenge  by  ascertaining  at  what  period  in  the  past  the  sun  would 
have  appeared  to  rise  precisely  in  line  with  the  "Friar's  Heel."  Scien- 
tific calculations  fix  that  period  —  in  fact  the  very  day  —  with  dis- 
concerting precision,  as  Midsummer  Day  in  the  year  1680  B.  C.  Thus 
the  cyclopean  masses  of  Stonehenge  must  have  been  reared,  by 
unknown  men  employing  means  to  us  unknown,  more  than  thirty- 
six  centuries  ago  —  or,  that  we  may  better  sense  the  remoteness  of 


ENGLAND 


THE  FRIAR'S  HEEI. 

the  date,  let  us  say  four  hundred  years  before  Rameses  the  Great 
set  up  his  obelisks  and  the  mighty  monoliths  of  his  colossal  temples 
in  the  Egypt  of  the  Pharaohs.  It  is  with  a  thrill  of  wonder  that  we 
look  through  one  of  the  titanic  trilithons  —  which  opens  like  a  portal 
of  the  fathomless  past  —  and 
see,  framed  there  against 
the  blue  of  the  heav- 
ens, British  mil- 
itary aviators 
cleaving  the 
ancient  sky 
of  Britain 
with  man- 
made  wings 
of  modern 
air-craft.  Theii 


IN    WILTSHIRE 


ENGLAND 


CASTLE   COMBE 


DEEP    IN     ENGLAND 


flight  turns  our 
thoughts  from  the 
unfathomed  past, 
hopefully  toward 
the  unfathomed 
future  of  our  race. 
But  sufficient 
unto  the  present 
day  are  the  prob- 
lems and  the  joys 
thereof  -  -  and  on 
we  travel  through 
this  land  of  Eng- 
land which  is  so  old 
and  at  the  same 
time  so  new  —  at 
least  to  me.  Strange 


ENGLAND 


33 


to  say    it    is    only 
after  a  quarter  of  a 
century   of  travel 
around  and  up  and 
down  our  interesting 
earth,   that  I    now 
find  myself  for  the 
first  time  tast- 
ing the  joys, 
seeing   the 


sights,  and  marvel- 
ing with    the    sur- 
prised enthusiasm  of 
one    who    has    dis- 
covered   something 
new,  at  the  beauty 
of  delightful  rural 
England.     Even 
the    ancient  Ro- 
man Baths  of  Bath 
are  very  new  to  me. 


QUAINT   CORNERS    OF   CASTLE    COMBE 

These  famous  baths  remind 
us  that  Britain's  earliest 
civilization  came  to  her 
from  Rome  —  that  Romans 
brought  to  this  far-off  island 
of  the  pale  barbarians  the 
arts  and  pleasures  and  con- 
veniences of  ancient  Rome. 
They  introduced  the  good- 
ly and  the  godly  custom 


ENGLAND 

•5^ 

of  the  daily  bath -a  custom  which  Britons  have  perpetuated  to 
the  lasting  benefit  and  credit  of  a  cleanly,  well-washed  and 
self-respecting  race.  No  unwashed  nation  can  be  ever  truly 
great.  No  one  will  ever  know  how  much  the  greatness  of  Great 
Britain  is  the  direct  result  of  the  individual  Briton's  devotion  to  his 
daily  tub -even  though  for  generations  it  has  been  at  best  only  a 
round  tin  tub  full  of  chilly  water,  laboriously  carried  up  several 


THE   ROMAN    BATHS  AT  BATH 


flights  of  stairs  by  the  long-suffering  "slavies."  May  Britons  who 
have  fought  the  good  fight  for  personal  cleanliness,  generation  after 
generation,  against  all  the  discouraging  odds  of  inadequate  facilities 
and  antiquated  plumbing  devices,  receive  in  due  time  their  well-merit- 
ed reward  in  the  form  of  countless  porcelain  tubs  that  are  tubs  and 
hot  running  water  that  runs,  and  is  hot  and  other  advantages  now 
long  since  enjoyed  by  the  denizens  of  the  skyscraping  cliff  dwellings 
of  America.  Think  of  the  centuries  of  discomfort  that  have  inter- 
vened for  civilized  man  —  blessed  with  a  desire  to  keep  his  body 
clean  —  between  the  yesterday  of  the  marble  baths  of  ancient  Rome 


ENGLAND 


35 


and  the  to-day  of 
the  tiled  bath 
rooms  of  the  ultra- 
modern U.  S.  A. 

Bath  was  in  the 
eighteenth  century 
the  most  fashion- 
able watering  place 
in  England,  fre- 
quented by  the 
elegant  world  of 
the  day,  whose 
amusements  and 
diversions  were  or- 
ganized and  super- 
vised  by  the 
famous  fop  Beau 
Nash,  who  as  mas- 
ter of  ceremonies 
made  himself  the  social  sovereign  in  the  kingdom  of  local  vanities. 
He  was  the  Ward  McAllister,  the  Harry  Lehr  and  the  Berry  Wall 
of  his  time  — •  all  three  in  one.  His  fame  is  not  to-day  as  wide  as 
that  of  the  better  known  dandy  of  the  succeeding  generation,  Beau 

Brummel  —  but  he  was  in  every 
way  an  abler  man.     He  lived 
a  frivolous  but  far  more  use- 
ful life  and   unlike  Beau 
Brummel  died  a  decent 
death.        His  memory 
is  still  honored  by  the 
town  of    Bath  which 
owes  to  his  practical 
administration   of  its 


PIPES   LAID   BY   ROMAN   PLUMBERS 


A    BATH    CHAIR 


36  ENGLAND 

eighteenth  century  follies  so  large  a  share  of  its  twentieth  century 

prosperity. 

Another  place  where  Romans  bathed  in  ancient  days  is  marked 
to-day  by  that  glorious  little  town  of  Wells  with  its  glorious  great 
church.  "Wells"  it  is  called  because  of  the  springs  or  wells  to  which 
the  place  owes  its  earliest  fame  -  wells  of  health-giving  waters  prized 


IN    LONGLEAT    PARK 


by  the  Romans  —  believed  in  by  the  ailing  folk  of  the  middle  ages  — 
but  not  enjoying  any  modicum  of  modern  favor.  Wells  is  a  place 
that  delights  the  eye.  No  town  in  England  offers  a  more  complete 
or  pleasing  picture  of  the  art  and  exquisite  good  taste  of  the  ecclesi- 
astic builders  of  the  Golden  Age  of  Early  English  architecture.  The 
Wells  Cathedral  is  very  easy  to  look  at  —  not  in  the  slang  sense  of 
that  phrase  —  but  literally  easy  to  behold  and  to  admire  from  many 


ENGLAND 


37 


satisfying  points  of  view.  To  stand  in  a  narrow  street  and  stretch 
one's  neck  and  strain  one's  eyes  in  efforts  to  see  and  analyze  the  glory 
of  a  great  cathedral  is  to  risk  losing  patience  with  the  builders  who 
have  so  badly  set  a  gem  of  architecture  that  its  beauty  must  be  sensed 
rather  than  seen.  At  Wells,  however,  one  may  lie  upon  the  green- 
sward of  the  quiet,  spacious  Close  and  gaze  up  at  that  wonder-wall 


ON    THE    ESTATE    OF  THE    MARQUIS   OF    BATH 


of  the  fac/ade  where  in  their  canopied  niches  stand  more  than  six 
hundred  figures  of  angels,  prophets,  saints  and  bishops,  kings  and 
queens  and  honored  benefactors  of  the  Church.  Six  hundred  heav- 
enly personages  or  noble  men  and  women  of  this  earth  are  there  por- 
trayed in  stone,  their  various  forms  so  ranged  and  juxtaposed  as  to 
present  on  one  great  sculptured  page  "a  compendium  of  both  the- 
ology and  history." 


38  ENGLAND 

Above  those  nine  tiers  of  silent  but  eloquent  images  rise  the  towers 
of  the  beautiful  cathedral,  as  yet  unfinished  —  in  fact  never  to  be 
finished.  Like  Notre  Dame  in  Paris,  this  English  church  has  stood 
so  long  without  its  projected  spires  that  to  add  spires  and  thus  com- 
plete the  design  of  the  old  architects  would  be  an  act  of  what  might 
be  termed  constructive  vandalism.  Although  imposing  from  every 
point  of  view  this  medieval  art-creation  is  comparatively  small.  Its 
satisfying  impressiveness  lies  in  the  happy  grouping  and  harmonious 
beauty  of  its  many  and  diverse 

features.  ***  **""  ^^       Unusual  in 


WELLS   CATHEDRAL 


design  and  in  beauty  is  the  octagonal  Chapter  House  -  approached 
from  the  church  by  a  peculiar  flight  of  stairs  that  suggests  an  inclined 
wavy  sea  of  stone.  The  well-worn  steps  tell  of  six  hundred  years  of 


ENGLAND 


39 


THE  CHAPTER    HOUSE    OF    WELLS 


constant  use.  The  nave  of  the  Cathedral  is  unique;  not  by  design  but 
through  what  might  be  termed  a  fortunate  misfortune.  While  in 
construction  the  four  piers  of  the  great  tower  threatened  to  collapse. 
The  master-builders,  inspired  by  alarm,  happily  hit  upon  a  novel 
and  unique  expedient  for  bracing  and  supporting  those  piers 
without  blocking  the  vistas  of  the  nave 
and  transepts.  They  built 
between  the  weakened 
piers  four  pointed 
arches,  springing 
from  the  level 
of  the  pave- 
ment. Upon 
them  they  built 
four  other 
p  o  i  n  ted 
arches 


THK    FACADE   OF    SIX    HUNDRED    STATIJK* 


ENGLAND 


THE    INVERTED    ARCH 


upside  down.  Thus  the  stability  of  the  higher  arches  was  assured 
and  thus  the  Wells  Cathedral  has  been  blessed  with  forms  of  unique 
beauty,  framing  but  not  blocking  the  noble  perspectives  from  entrance 
to  altar  and  from  transept  to  transept.  Moreover  the  dominant  lines 
of  these  double  arches  present  to  the  mind  of  every  worshiper  a  most 


ENGLAND 


appropriate  symbol  —  a  huge 
St.  Andrew's  Cross  —  for  Wells 
Cathedral  is  dedicated  to  St. 
Andrew.  He  died  upon  a  cross 
in  form  unlike  that  of  his  Mas- 
ter—  for  the  cross  on  which 
Andrew  was  crucified  was 


ENGLAND 
42 

shaped  like  a  letter  X:-a  cross  of  this  unusual  form  is  known 
as  a  Crux  decussata  or  decussate  cross. 

The  sight-seeing  pilgrims  of  to-day  perpetuate  the  prosperity  of 
the  taverns  of  the  town  which  were  once  supported  by  the  pilgrims 
of  old  who  came  to  pray.  Numerous  bands  of  British  tourists  are 
brought  to  town  in  fleets  of  big  motor-driven  char-a-bancs.  They 
view  the  beautiful  cathedral,  climb  the  wavy  stairs  of  the  Chapter 


THE  GREAT  GATE  OF  THE  EPISCOPAL  PALACE 


House,  pass  out  from  the  Cathedral  Close  through  the  Penniless 
Porch  (where  beggars  sat  in  olden  days)  and,  entering  the  noble 
portal  of  the  Episcopal  Palace,  wander  in  the  lovely  park  around  the 
Bishop's  picturesque  abode.  Then  after  they  have  bought  sets  of 
post  cards  and  refreshed  themselves  at  the  local  inns,  they  clamber 
into  their  respective  motor  busses,  and  roll  away,  over  good  English 
roads,  to  see  more  of  the  sights  of  their  beloved  England. 

Of  course  they  visit  Glastonbury,  which  is  less  than  six  miles  from 


ENGLAND 


43 


Wells.  There  is  more  to  tell  of  than  to  see  at  Glastonbury  but  the 
structures  that  have  survived  the  turmoil  of  the  ages  are  eloquent 
of  the  venerable  and  holy  things  that  are  no  more  —  but  to  which 
the  place  owes  its  ecclesiastical  fame.  Vanished  of  course  is  the  first 
church  that  marked  the  site  —  the  little  church  built  of  wattle 
and  of  wood  by  none  other  than  Joseph  of  Arimathaea,  who,  so 
says  the  monkish  legend,  was  sent  from  Gaul  by  Saint  Philip  as 


TOURISTS   SEE  THE    SIGHTS 


leader  of  a  band  of  twelve  apostles  to  evangelize  Britain.  One  evi- 
dence of  his  coming  long  survived  that  wattled  sanctuary.  It  was 
the  famous  Thorn  of  Glastonbury  which  he  planted  here  (some  say 
it  sprang  from  his  holy  staff)  in  the  first  century.  It  flourished  until 
the  Puritan  fanatics  of  the  Reformation  cut  it  down. 

Nor  will  the  pilgrim  of  to-day  find  any  trace  of  the  tombs  of  good 
King  Arthur  and  sweet  Queen  Guinevere,  who,  if  we  are  inclined  to 
credit  legend,  were  buried  here,  when  the  hill  called  Glastonbury  Tor 


44 


ENGLAND 


was  in  reality  an  island  —  called  by  the  legend- 
ary name  of  Avalon.     But  standing  boldly 
forth  against  the  sky  is  the  stone  tower  on 
the  Tor  where  Henry   VIII   hanged  the 
last  abbot  of  the  famous    Glastonbury 
Abbey.     And  equally  solid  and  visible 
to-day    are    the    ruins    of     the     later 
churches    and    other    edifices    of    the 
ancient  institution   that  had   its  begin - 


CLASTONBURY   TOR 


ning  in  the  tiny  shrine  set 
up  by  the  good  merchant  of 
Arimathea  nearly  two 
thousand  years  ago.  And 

—  of  especial  interest  to  the 
hungry  and  thirsty  traveler 

—  there    is  the   quaint  old 
Pilgrims'  Inn,   where    while 
the  chops   are   grilling   and 

the   "bitter"  being 


MUTILATED     SPLENDOR 


drawn  we  may  talk  of  the  past  of 
Glastonbury  and  be  glad  that  in 
speaking  of  it  we  do  not 
have    to    use    its  ancient 
Saxon     name    of    Glaes- 
tyngabyrig  —  or  its  still 
more    ancient    name     of 
Ynysyr  Afalon  by  which  it 


ENGLAND 


45 


ISB 


GLASTONBURY   ABBEY 


was  known  to  the  early  Britons.      But  speaking  of  inns  and  chops 
and  ale  —  we  naturally  think  of  cheese  —  and  of  course  the  cheese 


THE    GEORGE    INN    FOR    PILGRIM 


ENGLAND 

served  in  this  neighborhood  is 
the  famous  cheese  of  Ched- 
dar.   The  nearby  town 
of  Cheddar  where  that 
cheese  was   born 
more   than    two 
hundred  years  ago 
lies  near  the  en- 
trance    to    the 
grandest  gorge 
in  England  — 
a    long    wind- 
ing defile  shut 
in  by  the  tower- 
ing Cheddar 
Cliffs,  in  which 
are  the  famous 
and    fantastic 
Cheddar  Caverns. 


IN    THE    CHEDDAR   GORGE 


ENGLAND 


47 


Apropos  of  cheese  —  cheddar  01  other,  we  learn  on  going  to 
the  encyclopedia  —  that  intellectual  delicatessen  cupboard—  that 
the  familiar  expression  "That's  the  cheese"  in  no  way  refers  to 
that  favorite  food  of  mice  and  men.  We  should  say  "That's  the 
cheez"  —  the  word  "cheez"  being  from  the  Urdu  language  of  old 
India  —  and  meaning  "thing."  Thus  does  the  thoughtful  thumbing 
of  an  encyclopedia  richly  reward  the  seeker  after  truth. 


CHEDDAR,    WHENCE    COMES   THE    CHEESE 


There  are  in  England  two  world-famous  towns  which  may  be 
regarded  as  living,  corporate,  and  infallible  encyclopedias.  They  are 
the  University  towns  of  Oxford  and  of  Cambridge.  In  either  of  these 
celebrated  seats  of  learning  the  seeker  after  truth  will  find  at  his  com- 
mand the  stored-up  wisdom  of  past  ages  and  the  latest  revelations  of 


48  ENGLAND 

modern  research.     Well  may  the  alumni  of  a  great  university  regard 
it  as  their  "Alma  Mater"  -  literally  their  "Fostering  Mother." 

Oxford  is  to  the  eye  one  of  the  most  beautifully  satisfying  towns 
in  England.  It  is  an  exposition  of  period  architecture  almost  un- 
rivalled in  the  world.  It  is  a  liberal  education  -  artistically  speak- 
ing —  just  to  look  at  Oxford.  Nor  can  we  hope  in  these  pages  to  do 
more  than  look  at  Oxford,  for  to  study  in  detail  even  the  outward 


aspect  of  the  twenty-two  colleges  that  combine  to  form  the  University 
of  Oxford,  would  call  for  many  thousands  of  pictures  and  entire  vol- 
umes of  descriptive  text.  Therefore  we  are  content  merely  to  stroll 
along  "the  High,"  one  of  the  noblest  streets  in  England  —  enjoying 
the  vistas  that  are  unfolded  as  we  advance,  and  admiring,  as  others 
have  done  before  us,  "the  stream-like  wanderings  of  this  glorious 
street."  We  pause  before  the  picturesque  portal  of  the  Church  of 
St.  Mary  the  Virgin,  recalling  that  within  the  Church  the  unhappy 


ENGLAND 


49 


"i HI   HIUN" 

Amy  Robsart,  murdered  \\ih-  of  Robert  Dudley,  Karl  of  Leicester, 
was  laid  away  beneath  the  Choir  in  1560.  At  every  turn  we  are  re- 
minded of  >ome  famous  name  in  history  or  literature  or  art.  Uni- 
versity College  in  the  High  was  the  Alma  Mater  of  poor  Shelley.  He 


5° 


ENGLAND 


was  never  graduated;  he  was  expelled  in  1811 — because  of  his 
essay  on  "The  Necessity  of  Atheism."  The  faculty  was  not  proud  of 
Shelley  —  at  least  not  ^^^•"•^^^^  then  —  but  to-day  his 
college  proudly  ex-  ^^  ^^^  hibits  to  all  visitors 

a  marble  memo-    j  ^yrial  of  the  youth- 

ful poet.     The    j  A  \  largest,  although 

not  the  oldest    /  ilfl    Bki  1     of  the  Oxford 


THE  TOM  GATE  OF  CHRIST  CHURCH 


colleges,  is  Christ  Church.    The  tower  of  the  old  Tom  Gate  dom- 
bates  the  famous  Tom  Quad  -  the  most  spacious  of  the   many 


ICICWATSR   QUADRANGLE   AND  THE    LIBRARY 


college  quad- 
rangles.  High  in 
the  tower  hangs 
"Great  Tom,"  a 
bell  that  weighs 
seven  and  one-half 
tons.  Every  night 
at  just  five  min- 
utes after  nine 
those  seven  and  a 
half  tons  of  metal 
vibrate  to  the  tra- 
ditional one  hun- 
dred and  one 
strokes  that  give 
the  signal  for  the 
dosing  o:  all  the 
college  gates  of  all 
the  twenty-two 
colleges  that  lie 


VIN*R\»lt    STQNtS 


*^^$fi£«S» 

^ISSSI^ 

*wif3i^ 


/HKISf   OHl'RCH    Mk'AOOW 


within  sound  of 
the  booming  of 
Oca t  Tom. 

Cardinal  Wol- 
sey  founded  Christ 
Church  in  15.14. 
Samuel  Johnson, 
the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington, John  Rus- 
kin,  Gladstone,  and 
King  l-\l\vard  YU 
were  numbered 
among  its  under- 


ENGLAND 


THE    SHELDON1AN   THEATER 


graduates.    The  boy  who  may  some  day  reign  as  Edward  VIII  spent 
his  college  days  at  Magdalen  College.     In  one  corner   of  its  quiet 


ENGLAND 


S3 


ST.    MARY    MAGDALEN   COLLEGE 


old  quadrangle  we  see  the  ivy -draped  windows  of  the  rooms  occupied 
by  Edward,  Prince  of  Wales,  eldest  son  of  George  V  and  future 
King  of  England  and  Emperor  of  India. 

Under  the  walls  of  this  same  beautiful  old  college  flows  one  branch 


THE    IVY-DRAPED    WINDOWS   OF   THE    PRINCE    OF   WALES'    ROOMS 


54 


ENGLAND 


LIBRARY  OF   MERTON,    MOST    ANCIENT   IN    ENGLAND 


of  the  little  Cherwell  River  to  join  the  Thames  a  little  farther  on. 
Along  its  banks  lies  a  section  of  that  famous  deeply  shaded  path 
where  Addison  was  wont  to  wander,  more  than  two  hundred  years 
ago.  We  think  with  admiration  of  his  perfect  prose  as  we  follow 
that  poetic  path,  still  known  as  Addison's  walk. 


ENGLAND 


55 


That  tree-arched  path  beside  the  tree-arched  river  is  to  us  as 
suggestive  of  scholastic  calm  as  the  ancient  oak-arched  halls  of  the 
venerable  college  libraries.  Calmest  and  richest  in  its  atmosphere 
of  mellowed  learning  and  age-old  cultivation  is  the  library  of  Merton 
College  with  its  laden  book  racks  which  subdivide  it  into  so  many 
cosy  nooks  for  quiet  study  or  profound  research.  Absolute  calm 
broods  here  even  during  the  exciting  days  of  Commemoration  Week, 
when  outer  Oxford  is  thronged  with  visitors  come  to  witness  the 
processions  and  ceremonies  that  mark  the  end  of  the  term  called  the 
summer  term  —  although  it  ends  in  June. 

Summer  in  England  is  a  season  of  delight  and  the  River  Thames 
is  the  scene  of  the  most  delightful  doings  of  that  delightful  season. 
All  fashionable 
England  seems  to 
say  with  one  ac- 
cord in  the  words 
of  the  old  hymn 
"let  us  gather  at 
the  river  —  the 
beautiful,  the 
beautiful,  the 
river"  —  and  a 
good  part  of  the 
British  population 
gathers  literally  on 
the  river,  paving 
the  placid  stream 
with  a  mass  of 
punts,  canoes,  and 
little  motor  craft 
cruising  at  times 
in  such  close  for- 
mation as  almost 


THE    OCTAOON    HOUSE 


-6  ENGLAND 

to  hide  the  waters  of  the  aristocratic  stream.  Congestion  of  river 
craft  is  especially  acute  in  the  various  locks  that  lift  and  lower 
these  flotillas  of  pleasure  from  one  reach  of  the  canalized  Thames  to 
another.  At  Boulter's  Lock  on  Ascot  Sunday,  thousands  of  specta- 
tors gather  to  watch  the  leisurely  passing  of  a  floating  pageant  of 
luxury.  But  the  greatest  of  great  days  on  the  river  come  with  the 


BOULTER  S   LOCK 


ENGLAND 


57 


Henley  Regatta  early  in  July.  Than  the  Thames  presents  an  as- 
tounding motion  picture,  glorious  in  color,  scintillating  with  the  sun- 
shine of  bright  skies,  bright  eyes,  and  the  glint  of  flashing  oars  and 

paddles.  There  are  of 
course  boat  races  to 
give  a  special  thrill 
of  excitement  from 
hour  to  hour  —  but 
all  day  long  we  may 
enjoy  the  quiet,  joy- 
ous, lasting  thrill 
born  of  this  pleasing 
picture  of  the  very 
pleasant  life  lived 
by  thousands  of 
nature-loving  pleas- 
ure-seekers who 
seek  and  find  real  pleasure  on  their  best  beloved  river. 

There  is  a  very  human  quality  about  the  Thames.     More  truly 


A    PICNIC    IN    A   PUNT 


ASCOT    SUNDAY 


ENGLAND 


A   HOUSE    BOAT 


than  any  other  river  that  we  know,  it  seems  to  be  in  sympathetic 
touch  with  the  hearts  and  minds  of  the  men  and  women  who  love  it 
and  play  with  it  to-day.  It  seems  to  have  had  sympathetic  under- 


ENGLAND 


59 


standing  of  the  great  princes,  prelates  and  nobles  of  the  past  whose 
gilded  barges  it  once  bore  upon  its  breast  —  whose  medieval  castles, 
palaces,  and  mansions  are  still  mirrored  in  its  modern  depths.  The 
Thames  remem-  bers  and  reflects 


most  clearly  to  those  who  look  upon  it  with  eyes  focused  on  the  past, 
the  haughty  mightiness  of  the  great  Wolsey  —  "the  proudest  prelate 
who  ever  breathed."  It  was  at  Hampton  Court  that  he  held  his 
court  in  the  great  palace  which 
is  still  the  largest  palace  in 
all  England.  His  king  — 
the  violent  and  envious 
Henry  —  whose  ap- 
petite for  wives  was 
equalled  only  by  his 
appetite  for  palaces, 
looked  upon  Hampton 
Court  to  covet  it.  In 


A    FLOATING    VILLA 


6o 


ENGLAND 


those  days  a  palace  coveted  by  a  king 
was  not  a  thing  that  a  wise  Car- 
dinal would  care  to  have  in  his 
possession.     Wolsey  was  wise. 
Hampton  Court  was  offered 
to  the  Royal  British   Blue- 
beard—  and  accepted. 
To-day   it   is  a  home  for 
indigent   royalties  —  poor 
relations  of  the  Crown,  who 
are  granted  lodgings,  rent 
free,  in  certain  portions  of 
the  palace.  Other  portions, 
with  the  gardens,  have  be- 
come the  playground  of  the 
prosperous    proletariat    which 
throngs  the  park  and  the  picture 
galleries   every    sunny  —  and    even 
every    soggy  —  Sunday    in    the    year. 


EVENING  ON   THE   THAMES 


HAMPTON   COURT 


ENGLAND 


61 


WOLSEY  S   GIFT  TO   HENRY   VIII 


Twentieth  century  Pilgrims  from  America  must  always  find  this 
old  palace  of  special  interest,  for  here  was  held  in  1604  the  Hampton 
Court  Conference,  at  which  King  James  I,  in  response  to  the  peti- 
tions of  the  Puritans,  burst 
forth:    "I   shall   make 
them  conform  them- 
selves,   or    I    will 
harry    them    out 
of  the   land,  or 
else  do    worse." 
Th  us  Hampton 
Court    Palace 
might  be  called  the 
birthplace    of    New 
England,  for  it  was  this 
determination  of  James'  to 
"harry    them  out   of   the   land" 
which  drove  the  Pilgrims  of  the  seventeenth  century  first  to  Leyden 
and  then  on  to  found  settlements  in  a  more  hospitable  new  England. 
A  few  miles  farther  from  London,  but  still  on  the  charming  Thames, 
is  Windsor,  the  chief  residence  of  British  sovereigns  for  ages  long. 
Here    before    the 
Norman  Conquest 
was  a  residence  of 
the  Saxon  kings. 

Dominating  the 
castle  is  the  famed 
Round  Tower, 
eighty  feet  high, 
built  by  Edward 
III  to  receive  the 
Round  Table  of 
the  knights  of  the 
n  e  w  1  v  formed 


THE    PALACE 


62 


ENGLAND 


WINDSOR  CASTLE 


Order  of  the  Garter.  According  to  Froissart,  the  chronicler,  he 
selected  this  site  because  it  was  on  the  summit  of  this  very  mount 
that  King  Arthur  was  wont  to  sit  with  his  Knights  of  the  Round 
Table. 

To-day  the  "most  noble"  Order  of  the  Garter  is  still  a  most  noble 
and  exclusive  fraternity.  To  be  a  Knight  of  the  Garter  is  a  distinc- 
tion accorded  to  but 
few.  The  Sovereign 
of  Great  Britain 
and  the  Prince 
of  Wales  and  the 
flower  o  f  modern 
British  chivalry,  to 
the  number  of  not 
more  than 
half  a 

tflH 

hundred 


THE    ROUND   TOWER 


ENGLAND 


compose  this  most  noble  order  of  to-day.  The  insignia  and 
costumes  of  this  most  exclusive  of  fraternities  are  elaborate  and 
gorgeous.  The  young  Prince  of  Wales  when  arrayed  for  his  induc- 
tion was  a  picture  of  old  time  sartorial  splendor.  He  wore  the 
white-lined  mantle  of  blue  velvet  —  the  hood  and  coat  of  crimson 
velvet  —  the  hat  of  black  velvet  with  its  white  ostrich  plumes  from 
which  a  heron  plume  of  black  stands  stiffly  forth;  around  his 
neck  was  the  collar  of  gold  —  of  twenty-six  pieces  —  each  like  a 
coiled  garter  with  the  pendant  badge  of  Great  George  killing  the 
dragon;  the  "lesser 
George"  appeared 
upon  the  broad  blue 
ribbon  over  the 
prince's  shoulder; 
the  eight  -  pointed 
star  gleamed  on  his 
left  breast,  and  on 
his  left  leg  just  be- 
low the  knee  was  the 
garter  itself  —  of 
azure  velvet  —  gold- 
edged  and  gold-let- 
tere  d  with  the 
familiar  but  often 
ill-pronounced 
motto,  "Honi 
soil  qui  mat 
y  pense"  — 
"Shamed  be 
he,  who  evil 
here  imputes" 
—  as  Edward 
III,  founder 
of  the  order, 


BATTLEMENTS  OF  ROYALTY 


ENGLAND 


THEIR  MAJESTIES 


ENGLAND 


exclaimed  as  he  picked  up  and  placed  upon  his  kingly  knee  the 
dainty  garter,  dropped  at  a  dance  by  the  fair  Countess  of  Salisbury, 
in  the  gay  old  days  of  the  fourteenth  century.  If  we  ask  why  the 
King  of  England  was  so  graceful  a  master  of  Gallic  phrase,  we  must 
remember  that  his  mother,  Isabelle,  was  a  princess  of  France. 

Some  serious  authorities  assure  us  that  the  order  does  not  owe  its 
origin  to  this  uncertified  incident,  but  to  the  fact  that  Richard  Coeur 
de  Lion  tied  leathern  garters  to  the  legs  of  his  fighting  knights  in 
Palestine,  as  binding  reminders  that  they  should  fight  to  win  — 
and  win  they 
did  —  thus 
making  the 
garter  a  fit 
emblem  for  a 
chivalri  c 
order. 

The  garter 
also  became  in 
later  centuries 
the    emblem 
of    a  Tavern. 
In  Shakes- 
peare's  time 
Windsor   had 
about  seventy 
taverns,    the 
most  famous 
of    which  was 
the   Garter, 
presided    over 
by  the  genial 
taverner 
who  will 
live  im- 


H.  R.H.  THE  PRINCE  OF   WALES   ON   THE   OCCASION  OF   HIS   INDUCTION   TO  THE    MOST   NOBLE   ORDER 

OF  THE    CARTER 


66 


ENGLAND 


mortal  as  "mine  host  of  the  Garter."  There  Sir  John  Falstaff 
was  wont  to  empty  countless  tankards  of  foaming  ale,  the  while  he 
told  the  world  what  a  mighty  man  Sir  John  Falstaff  was.  There, 
as  mine  host  said,  were  "his  chamber,  his  house,  his  castle,  his 
standing-bed  and  truckle  bed;  'tis  painted  about  with  the  story  of 
the  Prodigal,  fresh  and  new." 

From  Windsor  and  its  scenes  reminiscent  or  suggestive  of  royal 
splendor  it  is  only  a  little  way  to  the  heart  of  English  simplicity.  In 
the  midst  of  the  English  Midlands  is  another  Mecca  for  Americans 
—  the  old  Jordans  Meeting  House  of  the  Society  of  Friends.  There 
in  the  burying  ground  stands  a  simple  tombstone  bearing  the  name  of 
William  Penn  —  the  great  Quaker  founder  of  Pennsylvania. 

Son  of  a  gallant  fighter  —  an  admiral  in  the  good  graces  of  King 

Charles  II  —  the  young  Penn  became 
one  of  the  great  leaders  of  the 
peace-loving  Quakers.      His 
life    was    one   of  striking 
contrasts.     As  a  pious 
child  he  had  visions 
of    heavenly   glory; 
as  a  youth  he  dallied 
for  a  time  amid  the 
gayeties  of  the  court 
of   Louis   XIV   at 
Versailles  —  return- 
ing to  England,  ac- 
cording   to    Mr. 
Pepys,    "with   t  h  e 
vanity  of  the  French 
garb     and    affected 
manner     of    speech 
and  gait."  As  a  man 
he  wielded  a  stern 
and     trenchant    re- 


ENGLAND 


ligious  pen;  and   as  a 
statesman  he   became 
the   founder   and    the 
governor    of    a    great 
commonwealth   in  the 
New  World  which   he 
wished  to  have  known 
as     "Sylvania"  —  a 
name     to    which    the 
King  insisted  on  pre- 
fixing "Penn"  in  honor 
of  his  friend  and  credi- 
tor, the  gallant 
Admiral    S  i  r 
William  Penn, 
who  was  the 
father  of  the 
father  of  the 
City  of  Broth- 
erly Love. 

From  Jor- 
dans  it  is 


THE    HORSESHOE    CLOISTERS 


but   a   short   ride  to  the  little  village  famous  as 
the  birthplace  of  John  Bunyan.     In  Elstow,  not 
far  from   the  city    of  Bedford,    the  author   of 
Pilgrim's  Progress  first  saw  the  light,  in  Novem  - 
ber,  1628.     The  house  in  which  he  lived,  not  the 
one    in  which   he  was  born,    is   the  one  well- 
labelled   landmark   of   the  place.     Bunyan  was 
the  illiterate  son  of  an  itinerant  tinker,  but  he 
became  one  of  the  most  powerful  preachers  of 
his  time,  and  in  Pilgrim's  Progress  he  com- 


AT    THE    ROYAL    PORTALS 


68 


ENGLAND 


THE   OLD   JORDANS  MEETING   HOUSE 

posed  a  book  which  has  served  many  a 
wandering  soul  as  a  spiritual 
and  moral  Baedeker. 

Thus  in    touring 
England,  at   every 
turn  the   traveler  is 
greeted    by    some 
thing,  some    house, 
some    place,    perhaps 
merely  some  monument, 
evocative  of  some  great 
familiar  name.    The  name  of 


WHERE    QUAKERS    MEET 

Sulgrave  is    not 
familiar,  but 
the  dignified 
mansion 
that  is 
known 


THE   GRAVE   OF   WILLIAM    PENN 


ENGLAND 


69 


as  Sulgrave  Manor  takes  on  a  meaning  for  us  when  we  learn  that 
the  Washingtons  of  Sulgrave  were  direct  ancestors  of  George  Wash- 
ington, first  President  of  the  United  States.  The  history  of  Sulgrave 


ELSTOW,    WHERE    JOHN    BUNYAN    WAS   BORN 

Manor  goes  back  to  the  days  of  the  Dooms- 
day Book,  that   great   survey  of    England 
by    which    William   the   Conqueror  at- 
tempted to  learn  the  financial  resources 
of  his  new  kingdom.      The  connection  of 
the  Washingtons  with  Sulgrave  appears 
to    have    begun   in    1539,   when    one 
Lawrence    Washington,    of    the    town 
of  Northampton,  bought  the  estate  for 
the  sum   of   £321    145.  lod.     He  was 
trained  to  the  law,  but  had    become  a 


BUNYAN  S   COTTAGE 


7o 


ENGLAND 


THE  PARISH  CHURCH  OF  SULGRAVE 


wool  merchant  —  and  like  most  wool  merchants,  apparently  a 
prosperous  one.  He  was  twice  elected  mayor  of  Northampton,  and 
seems  to  have  been  held  in  high  regard  by  his  friends  and  neighbors. 

Lawrence  Washington's  eldest  son,  Robert,  succeeded  to  the  manor 
on  the  death  of  his  father  in  1584.  Robert  Washington  had  six  sons 
and  three  daughters  by  his  first  wife,  and  three  sons  and  three  daugh- 
ters by  his  second  wife.  Robert's  eldest 
son,  Lawrence,  was  the  father  of  the 
Rev.  Lawrence  Washington,  two 
of  whose  sons,  Lawrence  and 
John,  migrated  to  America 
and  settled  in  Virginia  in 
1658.  John  Washington 
was  the  great-grandfather 
of  the  first  President  of 
the  United  States. 

All  save  a  few  of  us  will 
have    to    read    the    above 


IN  SULGRAVE 


ENGLAND 


paragraph    more    than    once  befo/e    we    get    a  good  grip  on  its 
contents:  geneological  details  always  make  hard  reading. 

Sulgrave  Manor  passed  out  of  the  hands  of  the  Washington 
family  in  1610,  when  Robert,  son  of  the  first  Lawrence,  sold  the  estate 
to  his  nephew,  Lawrence  Makepeace.  It  passed  through  many  hands 
in  the  next  three  centuries,  until  in  1914  it  was  purchased  by  the 
British  Peace  Centenary  Committee.  The  funds  for  this  purchase 
were  provided  by  a  small  group  of  public-spirited  Britons,  who  deeded 
the  estate  to  a  board  of  trustees,  in  perpetual  trust  for  the  American 
people. 

The  manor  house  is 
a  two  -  storied  lime- 
stone building,  roughly 
L- shaped,  the  base  of 
the  L  being  part  of  the 
original  home  built  by 
the  first  Lawrence 
Washington.  Over  the 
doorway,  in  the  two 
spandrels,  are  the  arms 
of  the  Washington 
family,  those  stars  and 
stripes  of  his  fore- 
fathers  which  undoubt- 
edly furnished  the 
inspiration  for  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  of 
the  flag  of  the  young 
country  which  proudly 
claims  George  Wash- 
ington as  father.  The 
poet  Tupper,  in 


THE    EECTORY 


72 


ENGLAND 


words  more  poetical  than  truthful,  makes  Benjamin  Franklin  tell 
the  story: 


SULCRAVE    MANOR 


"Yes,  Nathan,  I  proposed  it  to  the  Congress. 
It  was  their  leader's  old  crusading  blazon. 
Washington's  coat,  his  own  heraldic  shield, 
He  never  heard  of  it  till  fixed  and  done, 
For  on  the  spur  when  we  must  choose  a  flag, 
Symboling  independent  unity, 
We,  and  not  he — all  was  unknown  to  him — 
Took  up  his  coat  of  arms  and  multiplied 
And  magnified  it  every  way  to  this 
Our  glorious  national  banner." 

At  the  western  end  of  the  village  is  the 
parish  church,  dedicated  to  Saint  James.    There 
one  may  see  in  front  of  the  seat  that  once  be- 
longed to  the  owners  of  the  manor  house,  a  grey 


ELCOMING 
VISITORS 


ENGLAND 


73 


THE  ANCESTRAL  HOME  OF  THE 
WASHINGTONS 

slab,  with  three  old  brasses 
let  into  it.  At  the  top  of 
the  slab,  is  a  thin  plate, 
bearing  the  Washington 
arms.  The  inscription  on 
the  brass  follows: 

"Here  lyeth  ye  bodys  of 
Laurence  Wasshington  Gent. 
&  Amee  his  wyf  by  whome 
he  had  issue  iiii  sons  &  vii 
daught's  We  laurence  dyed 
ye ....  day  of ....  ano  15.... 
&  Amee  deceassed  the  vi  day 
of  October  ano  dni  1564." 

Evidently  the  husband 
ordered  the  slab  placed  after 
his  wife's  death,  and  left 
blank  spaces  for  the  date  of 
his  own  death.  But  his  suc- 


THE    WASHINGTON    COAT   OF   ARMS 


74 


ENGLAND 


cessors  seem  to  have  thought  little  of  such  details  and    neglected 
to  have  the  inscription  completed. 

Only  five  miles  from  Sulgrave  is  a  spot  of  which  every  English- 
speaking  child  hears  long  before  becoming  aware  that  such  a  person  as 


THE  "COCK  HORSES"  OF  TO-UAY 


ENGLAND 


75 


George  Washington  ever  lived. 
For  what  child  has  not  been  ad- 
vised time  and  again  to  "ride  a 
cock-horse  to  Banbury  Cross"? 
We  look  with  reminiscent  en- 
thusiasm upon  the  modern 
Banbury  Cross,  a  little  cross  on 
a  fairly  tall  Gothic  spire,  mark- 


ing a  crossroads  near  the  center 
of  the  town.  In  vain  we  watch 
for  the  cock-horse  —  but  motor- 
cycle side-cars  pass  by  the  dozen, 
or  halt  at  the  garage  opposite 
the  town  hall  to  purchase 
"petrol"  or  renew  a  tire. 

Greenwich  is  another  British 


ON    THE    MERIDIAN    OF   GREENWICH 


76 


ENGLAND 


place-name  familiar  to  us  all  from  childhood.  It  thrills  us  there- 
fore to  stand  in  Greenwich  —  and  presumably  upon  the  world- 
famous  meridian  of  Greenwich,  the  zero  line  of  terrestrial  geography. 
The  buildings  of  the  Royal  Observatory,  most  of  them  dating  from 
1675,  mark  the  spot  where  in  one  sense  time  begins  and  ends  - 
where  East  in  truth  meets  West  —  and  Orient  and  Occident  are  one. 


THE   GREENWICH   ROYAL   NAVAL   COLLEGE 


The  sturdy,  honest-faced,  old  Standard  clock  at  the  Observatory 
gate  marks  Greenwich  time  —  the  time  sacred  to  all  the  thousands 
of  conscientious  skippers  who  at  this  moment  are  sailing  the  seven 
seas.  The  navigator  who  does  not  know  what  time  it  is  at  Green- 
wich is  as  good  as  lost  —  but  we  know  that  aboard  every  worthy  ship 
to-day  afloat,  there  is  a  carefully  guarded  chronometer,  infallibly 
correct,  upon  the  dial  of  which  two  faithful  hands  are  marking  Green- 
wich time.  For  the  traveler  who  cannot  spare  time  to  go  to  either 


ENGLAND 


77 


SONS  OF    SEAMEN 


of  the  poles,  I  can  recommend  the  zero  line  at  Greenwich  as  a  giver 
of  a  geographical  thrill  that  is  worth  while. 

It  was  in  the  now  vanished  Royal  Plaisance  of  Greenwich  that 
the  much-to-be-married  Henry  VIII  was  born  and  there,  too,  his 
manly  daughter,  good  Queen  Bess,  was  brought  into  a  troubled  world. 


AFTER  YEARS 
OF  HONORABLE  SERVICE 


ENGLAND 


A    COURT  AT   CAMBEIDO1 


THE    FITZWILLIAM    MUSEUM 


ENGLAND 


79 


In  Greenwich,  the  great  Nelson,  hero  of  Trafalgar,  savior  of  his 
country,  lay  in  state  after  his  famous  and  to  him  fatal  victory. 
The  British  Navy  feels  at  home  in  Greenwich.  The  vast  hospital 
and  Royal  Naval  College  on  the  site  of  the  vanished  palace  —  the 
Royal  Naval  School  with  its  wholesome  horde  of  a  thousand  sturdy 
sons  of  seamen  and  marines  —  the  training  ship  on  shore  —  and  the 
myriad  ships  from  the  far  ends  of  the  earth  that  glide  past  Green- 


ST.    JOHN   S   COLLEGE,   CAMBRIDGE 


wich  up  the  winding  Thames  toward  the  great  port  of  London  —  all 
these  things  endear  the  place  to  men  whose  lives  are  lived  upon  the 
deep  in  the  service  of  the  far-flung  British  Empire. 

Less  famous  than  the  Thames,  but  equally  dear  to  many  British 
hearts,  is  the  little  river  Cam,  on  whose  banks  stands  the  University 
of  Cambridge.  Most  beautiful  of  the  many  bridges  of  "Cam-Bridge" 
is  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  joining  the  spacious  piles  of  St.  John's  College. 
This  was  the  college  of  Cecil,  Lord  Burghley,  Wentworth,  Roger 
Ascham,  Wordsworth  and  Lord  Palmerston  —  to  name  only  a  few 


8o 


ENGLAND 


THE  BACKS   ALONG  THE  CAM 


of  its  notable  alumni.     But  every  one 
of  the  colleges  of  Cambridge  has 
distinguished  sons,  and  the  ros- 
ter of  their  alumni  reads  like 
a  list  of  the  leaders  in  every 
field  of  human  enterprise. 
Particularly  is    this    true 
of  Trinity,  the  largest  col- 
legiate foundation  in 
Cambridge,    and    larger 
than  any  in  Oxford.  Isaac 
Newton,  Byron,  Macauley, 
Tennyson,  were    all  Trin- 
ity men,  but  as  the  Ency- 
clopedia Britannica  carefully 
explains    to    the    seeker  for 
knowledge,  the    eminent 


CLASSIC    CHIMNEYS 


ENGLAND  81 

alumni    of    Trinity    are    really     "too     numerous     to     admit    of 
selection." 

Cambridge  is  a  city  of  unusual  charm  and  dignity.  Keenly  to 
appreciate  that  charm,  the  visitor  must  glide  along  the  Cam,  between 
those  stately  gardens  which  are  called  with  a  lamentable  lack  of 
the  respectful  admiration  they  deserve,  simply  and  brutally  "The 


THE   TUDOR   ARMS    ABOVE    THE    GATE   OF    CHRIST'S   COLLEGE 

Backs,"  because  they  are  behind  the  colleges.  The  gate  to  Christ's 
College,  where  John  Milton  and  Charles  Darwin  studied,  epitomizes 
architecturally  the  medieval  dignity  of  Cambridge. 

Emmanuel  College,  in  Cambridge,  has  one  alumnus  whose  name 
is  best  known  because  of  his  connection  with  another  university  in 
another  city  of  Cambridge,  in  New  England  —  for  it  was  the  bequest 
from  John  Harvard  of  some  three  hundred  books  and  one-half  the 
value  of  his  estate,  amounting  to  less  than  four  thousand  dollars, 


82 


ENGLAND 


THE    HARVARD    HOUSE   AT    STRATFORD-ON-AVON 

was  aroused  through  the  efforts  of  Miss 
Marie  Corelli,  who  had  rescued  the  fine  old 
building  from  oblivion  and  decay.  Thus 
the  Harvard  House  takes  its  place,  in  all 
its  quaintness  and  dignity,  among  the 
sights  of  Stratford,  to  show  us  what  the  Strat- 
ford homes  were  like  in  Shakespeare's  time. 


that  was  commemo- 
rated in  the  naming  of 
Harvard  College.  The 
home  of  John  Har- 
vard's mother,  Kather- 
ine  Rogers,  still  stands 
in  Shakespeare's  town 
upon  the  River  Avon. 
For  more  than  three 
hundred  years  it  has 
stood  there,  but  it  has 
been  known  as  the  Har- 
vard House  only  since 
1909,  when  it  was 
purchased  by  Mr.  Ed- 
ward Morris  of  Chi- 
cago, and  presented  by 
him  to  Harvard  Uni- 
versity, to  be  preserved 
as  a  memorial  of  John 
Harvard.  His  interest 


JOHN    HARVARD 


ENGLAND 


THE    HOME    OF    JOHN    HARVARD'S    MOTHER 


FY    BY    EDWARD    MORRIS 


84 


ENGLAND 


The  Shakespeare  home  itself  —  the  house  in  which  he  lived  his 
wedded  life  and  doubtless  wrote  his  greatest  plays  —  was  almost  with- 
out question,  very  like  in  aspect  to  the  Harvard  House,  but  alas  it 
has  completely  disappeared.  It  was  known  as  New  Place.  It  was 
demolished  by  a  strangely  thoughtless  clergyman  into  whose  posses- 
sion it  had  come.  This  happened  in  the  year  1759  when  there  was 


THE    SHAKEPEARE   HOUSE 


unfortunately  no  enthusiastic  lady  novelist  to  protest  against  the 
threatened  vandalism  —  no  American  capitalist  to  purchase  and  pre- 
serve the  structure  which  would  have  become  a  heritage  so  precious 
for  all  lovers  of  the  Bard  of  Avon. 

But  the  house  in  which  the  eyes  of  Shakespeare  opened  upon  the 
world  that  was  one  day  to  acknowledge  him  its  master  dramatist,  still 
stands  as  a  shrine  to  which  thousands  of  grateful  pilgrims  make  their 
annual  way.  No  fewer  than  thirty  thousand  visitors  knock  at  the 


ENGLAND 


THE    STAIRS   DOWN    WHICH   THE    BABY    SHAKESPEARE    DOUBTLESS  TUMBLED 


WHERE   YOUNG   WILL    SHAKESPEARE    SPENT   HIS   BOYHOOD  DAYS 


86 


ENGLAND 


IS    THE     ROOM     WHERE    HE     WAS    BOR 

when  men  demanded  homes  that 
would    endure    and    shelter 
many    successive    gener- 
ations.     Of    course 
much  careful    restora- 
tion has  been  lavish- 
ed  on   the   precious 
little   pile  that  shel- 
tered  Shakespeare's 
early   youth;  it   has 
been    tended    and 
watched    over   with 
an  almost  religious  zeal 


door  in  the  course  of 
every  twelvemonth ; 
but  the  wear  and  tear 
of  sixty  thousand  rev- 
e  r  e  n  t ,  and  ofttimes 
hurried  feet,  have  left 
no  brutal  marks  upon 
the  floors  or  stairs  of 
John  Shakespeare's 
well  -  constructed  and 
well-cared  for  cottage. 
The  paternal  cottage 
is  in  fact  composed  of 
two  cottages  brought 
under  one  roof  —  old 
timbered  dwellings 
conscientiously  put  to- 
gether by  the  carpenters 
and  builders  of  an  age 


HOLY   TRINITY 


ENGLAND  87 

by  the  officers  and  employees  of  the  "Birthplace  Trust"  which  now 
owns  and  controls  it.  For  perfect,  meticulous  house-keeping,  com- 
mend me  to  the  worthy  guardians  of  the  Shakespeare  cottage.  No 
insect  is  allowed  to  dig  its  fangs  into  the  hallowed  timbers  —  no 
rain-drop  to  steal  insinuatingly  between  the  shingles  of  the  roof 
—  no  cobwebs  are  allowed  to  sway  in  cozy  corners  —  no  mildew 


THE    BUST   OP   SHAKESPEARE    LOOKS   DOWN 


ARE'S  GRAVE 


88 


ENGLAND 


or  dry  rot  to  attack  hidden  vulnerable  places.  Everything 
is  scrupulously  scrubbed,  religiously  rubbed,  painstakingly  pol- 
ished; and,  to  the  horror  of  many  a  conservative  and  warm-blooded 
Briton,  the  place  is  actually  kept  warm  and  livable  in  winter  by 
means  of  an  American  installation  of  hot  water  radiators.  The  rooms 


THE    SHAKESPEARE   MEMORIAL 


ENGLAND 


89 


on  the  ground  floor  are  so  crowded  with  interesting  souvenirs  of  the 
poet  and  his  times  as  to  produce  the  effect  of  a  museum  rather  than 
that  of  a  private  dwelling;  but  up-stairs  things  have  a  more  home- 
like look  and  there  we  find  an  atmosphere  more  pleasingly  domestic. 
Very  simple,  very  bare  and  yet  very  impressive  is  the  little  upper 
chamber  in  which  Shakespeare  was  born  —  on  the  twenty-third  day 

of  April,  ^^—  1564.     Little 

J-^^*****-l  ^**^^^^^ 

did  she         ^^^*^  ^^^^  dream 


THE    COTTAGE    OF   ANNE    HATHAWAY 


—  the  mother  of  the  child  whose  first  cry  was  uttered  in  this 
humble  room  so  many  years  ago  —  that  even  after  the  passing  of 
three  full  centuries,  an  endless  procession  of  admiring  humanity 
would  be  flowing  in  and  out  of  the  low  narrow  door  —  that  the 
world  would  make  of  this  house  a  shrine  of  pilgrimage,  because 
of  the  amazing  genius  of  the  babe  —  so  like  to  other  English 
babes  —  who  then  lay  mewling  in  her  arms.  But  still  they 
come,  thirty  thousand  and  more  each  year,  from  the  farthest 


ENGLAND 


WHERE    THEY    SAT    BY    THE    FIRE 


corners  of  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking 
world,  to  enter  with 
respectful  hush, 
this  upper  room 
wherein  her  baby 
boy  was  born.  We 
come  to-day, 
among  the  rest, 
to  pay  our  humble 
share  of  the  bound- 
less tribute  that 
humanity  so  gladly 
pays  to  him  who  voiced  so  clearly  and  so  revealingly  the  thoughts, 
ideals,  and  aspirations  that  dwell,  silent,  undefined  or  inarticulate 
within  us.  It  is  the  vast  and  deep  humanity  in  Shakespeare  that 
draws  all  the  human  race  to  him.  He  made  himself  one  of  the 
great  spokesmen  of  mankind  —  and  men  have  listened  to  him  and 
will  listen  to  him,  gladly  and  responsively,  so  long  as  his  words 
glow  upon  the  pages  of  human  understanding. 

Between  the  cradle  and  the  grave  he  traveled  far,  touching  in  his 

plays  the  farthest 
ends  of  the  narrower 
world  of  his  own 
day — and  touching, 
from  time  to  time, 
in  his  poetic  flights, 
the  very  stars.  And 
yet  his  cradle  and 
grave  are  situate 
within  the  limits  of 
one  little  English 
town.  His  last  sleep, 


ENGLAND 


like  his  first,  is  on  the  banks  of  the  Avon,  in  Stratford  amid  the 
scenes  of  his  childhood,  his  maturity,  and  his  life's  end.  His  bones 
rest  in  the  chancel  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Trinity  which,  like 
the  Birthplace  itself,  is  now  a 
shrine  to  which  come  pilgrims 
from  many  lands.  Forme 
twenty-eight  crowded  years  had 
passed  since  I  had  entered  the 
little  sanctuary.  I  had  not 


THE  LOVE  PATH  OF  THE  POET 


ENGLAND 


been  in  Stratford  since  I  had  come  as  a  boy  of  sixteen  in  the 
course  of  my  first  European  tour.  Yet  nothing  seems  greatly  changed. 
Everything  is  as  it  used  to  be  —  with  one  exception.  The  famous 
tinted  bust  of  the  poet  —  recognized  as  one  of  the  few  reliable,  con- 
vincing likenesses  of  the  great  one  —  has  been  screened  by  a  thick 
screen  of  plate  glass.  I  ask  the  sexton  why  the  image  has  been  thus 
enclosed  as  in  a  show  case.  He  glances  suspiciously  at  the  ladies  of 
our  party  and  replies,  "It's  because  of  the  Suffragettes,  Sir;  you  never 

can  tell  what  they 
may  be  doing  next, 
Sir;  they  might 
come  bombarding 
him  because  he 
never  asked  for 
votes  for  women." 
The  old  inscription 
on  the  slab  in  the 
pavement  beneath 
which  he  lies  still 
quaintly  curses  him 
who  shall  attempt 
to  move  his  bones 
—  still  blesses  him 
that  spares  those 
stones. 

Could  he  rise 
and  wander  forth 
from  the  old 
church  to  contem- 
plate the  Stratford 
of  our  day,  he 
would  not  feel  him- 
self a  stranger  in 
his  native  town. 

HOW  TO   ''BURN   A   CANDLE   AT   BOTH    ENDS*' 


ENGLAND 


93 


The  Avon  River  still  flows  gently  past  the  green  lawns  and  the 
gloriously  green  gardens  of  old  Stratford;  in  it  are  mirrored  the  same 
venerable  trees  that  graced  its  banks  when  he  was  wont  to  wander 
there.  He  would  see  very  little  that  would  be  new  or  strange 
to  him  —  save  the  conspicuous  bulk  of  the  great  Memorial  that  bears 
his  name.  Within  it  he  would  find  a  library  filled  with  the  thousands 


of  books  that  men  have  written  about  him  and  his  writings.  There, 
too,  he  would  find  a  museum  filled  with  souvenirs  of  him,  and  a 
theater,  on  the  stage  of  which  his  plays  have  annual  presentation. 

It  is  only  about  a  mile  from  Stratford  to  the  tiny  village  where  the 
author  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  did  his  own  love-making.  At  Shottery 
dwelt  the  presumably  fair  and  unquestionably  mature  Anne  Hatha- 
way to  whom  the  as  yet  uncelebrated  Stratford  youth  paid  court. 


94 


ENGLAND 


WARWICK    CASTLE 


Shakespeare  was  eighteen  years  of  age  and  Anne  confessed  to  twenty- 
six  when  they  were  married.     The  cottage  home  of  the  Hathaways 


THE    VELVET   LAWN 


ENGLAND 


95 


stands  to-day  in  all  the  quaintness  and 
beauty  of  its  sixteenth  century  design. 
It  is  perhaps  the  prettiest  cottage  in  all 
England,  and  one  of  the 
most  frequented,  for  tourists 
come  by  thousands  to 
see  the  very  fireside 


where  the 
creator  of  the 
S  o  n  n  e  t  s 
wooed    and 
won  the  dam- 
sel   o  f   his 
choice. 


TOWERS    OF 
WARWICK 


Q6  ENGLAND 

Even  to-day  we  find  a  very  charming  damsel  waiting  to  greet 
us  at  the  gate.  She  leads  us  in  and  from  room  to  room,  ex- 
plaining in  fascinating  dialect  the  many  curious  and  interesting 
details  of  the  perfectly  preserved  old  dwelling.  She  shows  us  the 
wooden  door  of  the  brick  oven,  the  heavy  pewter  .plates  ranged  on 
the  shelves  and  the  square  wooden  dishes  with  hollows  for  the  salt 


KENILWORTH 


cut  in  the  corners.  She  shows  us  also  a  real  old  fashioned  "rush- 
light" in  its  holder,  or  "clip  candlestick."  It  was  in  candlesticks  like 
this,  she  tells  us,  that  people  used  to  "burn  the  candle  at  both  ends" 
—  and  she  proceeds  to  show  us  how  it  was  done.  The  wick  is  made 
of  the  dried  pith  of  a  rush  dipped  in  oil  or  tallow  and  is  very  long  and 
slender;  it  is  held  by  the  "clip"  of  the  crude  iron  candlestick  and,  as 
it  burns,  it  must  be  moved  upwards  from  time  to  time,  requiring 


ENGLAND 


97 


almost  constant  attention.     It   gives  at 
best  a  very  feeble  light,  and  therefore 
extravagant    folk   were   wont  to  fix 
both  ends  of  the  wick  in  the  clip  and 
thus  literally  "burn  the  candle  at  both 
ends"  —  as  the  saying  had  it. 

From  this  humble  but  historic 
home  the  traveler  usually  goes  direct- 
ly to  another  equally  historic  home 
but  one  very  far  from  humble.  It 
is  Warwick  Castle,  one  of  the  noblest 
and  at  the  same  time  most  home- 
like fortified  palaces  of  the  feudal 
period.  It  lifts  its  towers  high  above 
a  lovely  stretch  of  the  River  Avon.  The  oldest  of  its  towers  — 
Caesar's  Tower  —  was  reared  shortly  after  the  Norman  Conquest. 
Here  was  the  home  and  stronghold  of  Richard  Neville  —  "The  Last 
of  the  Barons"  —  and  the  most  famous  of  the  Earls  of  Warwick  — 


"MY  HOUSE" 


A    LAND    OF    HOMES 


ENGLAND 


"the  good  fighter  but  poor  general" -— the 
skillful  manager  of  men  who  helped  to  seat 
and  unseat  Edward  IV  and  for  a  time 
reseated  Henry  VI  on  England's 
throne  —  the  masterful  spirit  of 
his  time  who  perished  in  defeat  in 
1471  —  but  is  still  remembered  for 
his  victories  and  still  called  by  the 
proud  epithet  of  "King  Maker." 
Only  about  five  miles  by  road  from 
this  perfectly  preserved  and  exquisitely 
maintained  citadel  of  the  great  Warwick  stands 
e  shattered,  ivy-clad  ruin  of  another  famous  Eng- 
lish castle  made  doubly  famous  by  the  familiar  novel  to  which  it 
gave  its  name.  The  Kenilworth  that  rises  before  our  imagination 
at  mention  of  the  name,  is  the  Kenilworth  of  Walter  Scott  rather 
than  the  Kenilworth  of  Robert  Dudley,  Earl  of  Leicester  and  one- 
time host  of  England's  Virgin  Queen.  Scott  has  peopled  for  us  the 
lordly  halls  and  chambers  of  this  now  almost  formless  abode  of 
Elizabethan  splendor.  His  prose  evokes  the  living  past  —  brings 


LUGGAGE  LABELS 


A  WESTMORLAND  WAY  STATION 


ENGLAND 


99 


THE    MAIN    STREET   OF   BURTON 


before  our  mental  vision  the  events  and  incidents  of  a  far-off 
gorgeous  age  almost  as  vividly  as  the  film  of  modern  kinematog- 
raphy  brings  to  our  eyes  the  things  that  we  have  heard  of  but  have 
never  seen  and  makes  them  real  to  us. 


THE  TOWN    OF    BURTON    IS    VERY    MUCH    LIKE   THE   TOWN    OF   HOLME 


100 


ENGLAND 


Despite  its  many  castles  England  is  primarily  a  land  of  homes  — 
of  homes  that  have  been  homes  for  generations.  The  child  of  to-day 
who  speaks  of  "my  house"  is  nearly  always  the  descendant  of  fore- 
bears who  have  called  the  same  structure  "my  house"  since  it  was 
built  by  the  founder  of  the  family  long  centuries  ago. 

Personally  I  have  some  reason  to  suspect  that  the  "my  house" 
of  my  remote  ancestors  was  in  Westmorland.  A  hint  of  this  came 


N   THE    LAKE    COUNTRY 


to  me  many  years  ago,  in  1900,  while  en  route  to  the  Passion  Play 
at  Oberammergau.  In  the  railway  carriage  was  a  British  matron 
embarrassed  with  the  many  bags  and  bundles  that  accompany  the 
•touring  subjects  of  her  far-flung  monarchy ;  in  the  confusion  of  arrival 
I  volunteered  to  handle  some  of  this  impedimenta,  and  in  lifting  one 
piece  of  luggage  I  noted  some  old  English  railway  labels  pasted  upon 
it.  One  of  these  interested  me  because  such  letters  as  were  visible 


ENGLAND 


seemed  to  spell  my  name.  There  was  the  B-u-r-t  and  just  far  enough 
along  there  was  the  1-m-e.  My  curiosity  aroused,  I  asked  permission 
to  remove  the  outer  label  and  there  beneath  it  was  an  older  label 
reading  "BURTON  AND  HOLME,  L.  and  N.  W.  Ry."  I  present 
my  card  by  way  of  explanation.  The  lady  in  return  explains  that 
the  two  little  Westmorland  towns  of  Burton  and  Holme  are  served 
by  one  station  with  a  hyphenated  name.  Naturally,  when  I  found 
myself  many  years  later  motoring  through  the  Westmorland  country, 
I  did  not  fail  to  visit  and  photograph  the  station  and  the  towns  that 
bear  —  with  the  exception  of  the  final  "s"  —  my  name. 

Not  far  beyond  these  name- 
sake towns  of  mine  we  find 
ourselves  in  the  heart  of 
one  of  the  most  cele- 
brated scenic  regions 
of  all  England  —  the 
Lake  District,  home 
of  the  poets  of  a  recent 
past  and  the  beloved 


THE    HOTEL 


102 


ENGLAND 


playground  of  the 
beauty  -  lovers  of 
the  present.  The 
English  Lakes,  in 
the  northwestern 
corner  of  the  King- 
1  dom,  are  very  lit- 
tle lakes  indeed. 
Grasmere  itself, 
upon  the  shores  of 
which  we  spend  a 
pair  of  happy  days, 
is  but  one  single 
mile  from  end  to 
end,  and  only  about  eight  hundreds  yards  across.  But  it  is  beauti- 
ful —  so  beautiful  that  poets  who  have  charmed  the  world  with 


IS  DOTE  COTTAGE 


DOVE  COTTAGE  AT  THE  END  OF  THE  LANE 


ENGLAND 


103 


THE    GRASMERE    CHURCH 


their  words,  have  been  happy  to  spend 
their  years  within  the  green  bowl 
formed  by  the  low  gentle  moun- 
tains that  rise  around  about  it. 
So  many  poets  have  suc- 
cumbed to  the  charm  of  this 
region  that  we  now  speak  of 
"The  Lake  School  of  Poetry," 
and  of  the  "Lake  Poets." 
The  founder,  and  for  a  long 
time  the  master  of  this 
school,  was  William  Words- 
worth. Of  his  eighty  years  upon 
this  planet  Wordsworth  elected  to 
spend  three-score  in  this  exquisite  para- 
dise of  inspiration.  For  nine  years  —  from 
1799  to  1808  —  he  lived  in  Dove  Cottage  at  the 
end  of  a  pretty  little  Grasmere  lane.  Dorothy,  his  sister,  dwelt 
there  with  him;  hither,  too,  came  Coleridge — and  Southey  and 
DeQuincey.  Dove  Cottage  was  for  those  nine  years  the  rendezvous 

of  those  artists  in 
words  who  painted 
with  their  pens  im- 
mortal pictures  of 
the  beautiful  lake 
country  which  they 
loved  so  much  and 
understood  so 
well.  Wordsworth 
died  in  1850.  His 
simple  grave  is  in 
the  crowded 
churchyard  of  the 
Grasmere  Church. 
Near  him  lie  Mary, 


WORDSWORTH  S    ORAVE 


104 


ENGLAND 


the 


his  wife,  and  Dorothy,  his  best-beloved 
sister,  critic  and  companion. 

Another  genius— great  lover 
of  beauty  in  all  forms — sleeps 
in  another  churchyard  near 
another  lake.  John  Ruskin 
sleeps  at  Coniston  beneath 
a  Celtic  cross,  not  far  from 
his  lakeside  home  at  Brant- 
wood.  Tennyson  once  dwelt 
on  the  shore  of  that  same 
lake;  in  fact  the  poets  of  Eng- 
land were  all  i  n  love  with 
England'slakes.  Shelley  and  Keats 
and  Matthew  Arnold  often  came 
seeking  inspiration  in  the  beauty  of 
lovable  and  lovely  region — a  beauty  that  lies  not 
only  in  the  lakes  and  landscapes  but  is  expressed 
in  a  thousand  charming  ways  by  the  villages,  the  highways,  the 
woodlands,  and  the  byways.  The  country  seems  like  a  vast  private 
park  in  which  fine  animals  have  been  turned  out  to  pasture.  The 
sheep  and  cattle  that  seem  to  place  themselves  with  artistic  dis- 
crimination, at  just  the  right  spot  in  the  scene  to  complete  the 

composition  of  the  picture  we  are 
in  the  act  of  making,  may 
be  regarded  b  y  t  h  e 
traveler  as  ideal 
"  artistic   proper- 
ties"—but  to  the 
hard-h  eaded 
farmers    and 
breeders    like 
those    w  e  find  a  s- 
sembled  at  the  fair  of 


ENGLAND 


105 


Ambles'de,  these  same  artistic  properties 
represent  very  practical  and  negotiable 
belongings  in  which  reside  rich  possibil- 
ities of  prosaic  profit. 

And  yet  we  learn  that  the  poetic 
beauty  of  their  corner  of  old  England  is 
very  dear  to  these  serious-looking  folk 
whose  stern  British  physiognomies  we 
study  with  interest  as  they  study  with 
the  air  of  experts,  the  fattened  ovine 
prize-winners  in  the  various  sheep-pens. 
In  1883  there  was  established  a  Lake 
District  Defence  Society,  the  object  of 
which  was,  in  the  words  of  its  constitu- 
tion— "to  offer  a  powerful  and  consoli- 
dated opposi- 


BRITISH    BLONDES 


tion  to  the  in- 
troduction of 
unnecessary 
railways  into  the  Lake  District,  and  to  all 
other  speculative  schemes  which  may  ap- 
pear likely  to  impair  its  beauty  or  destroy 
its  present  character." 

We  of  the  ever-changing  new  world  are 
prone  to  criticise  the  conservatism  with 
which  the  English  regard  all  efforts  to  alter 
the  established  ways  of  doing  things.  We 
like  to  try  out  new  devices ;  they  are  content 
with  the  time-tried  installations  that  their 
fathers  found  to  their  old-fashioned  liking. 
Of  this  fact  we  were  reminded  when  we 
one  day  discussed  with  a  most  intelligent 
Englishwoman,  the  important  matter  of 
keeping  one's  house  warm  in  winter.  She, 
as  the  principal  of  a  well-known  boarding 


AN    ENGLISH    FACE 


io6 


ENGLAND 


school  for  girls,  had  just  completed  the  equipping  of  a  new  and  "very 
modern"  dormitory  building  of  a  hundred  rooms  — in  which  as  she 
proudly  informed  us  there  were  one  hundred  fire-places  —  one  little 
coal-burning  grate  in  every  room!  "Dear  me,  no!"  she  exclaimed,  as 
we  expressed  surprise  that  she  had  not  installed  a  central  heating 
plant.  "No,  I  wouldn't  have  those  horrid  steamy  pipes  running  all 
over  the  place!  Each  girl  can  have  her  own  cosy  little  fire." 


SHF.EP   FAIR 


ENGLAND 


107 


So  every  cold  day, 
one  hundred  little  fires 
were  to  be  kindled  — 
and  after  giving  forth  a 
cheerful  smudge,  pro- 
ceed —  like  every  grate 
fire  that  I  have  ever 
tried  to  nurse  in  Eng- 
land—  to  expire  and 


GOOD    JUDOES    OF    WOOL    AND    MUTTON 


classic 

chill,  so  char- 
acteristic of  the  British 
interior,  triumphant  in 
its  suggestion  of  a  sep- 
ulcher  for  the  living. 

But  happily  the 
average  American  — 
pampered  by  the  all  too 
efficient  heating  appa- 
ratus of  his  own  hotel 
or  home — rarely  suffers 


ENGLAND 
108 

the  discomforts  of  the  British  winter.    He  comes  as  we  have  come  in 
summer  when  the  tepid  charm  of  the  sun-warmed  English  out-of-doors 
keeps  him  continually  in  the  open  where  he  finds  so  many  allurement 
that  his  own  land  can  never  offer  him. 

As  for  the  excellent  roads,  they  seem  to  have  been  created 
pressly  for  the  pleasure  of  the  motorist,  except  the  steep  rough  mile 
or  more  that  leads  over  the  Honister  Pass.  We  had  been  warned  at 
the  hotel  that  the  descent  from  the  pass  was  "absolutely  impossible 
for  motor  cars,"  and  so  we  garaged  our  car  for  the  day  and  for 
safety's  sake  embarked  for  this  wild  ride  on  one  of  the  coaches 
operated  by  the  local  stables.  With  ostentatious  care  the  driver 
negotiates  the  fearful  incline  from  the  summit;  as  we  touch  bottom 
safely  we  breathe  sighs  of  relief.  Our  sighs  are  echoed  by  the  honks 
of  a  tin  something  that  has  come  sneaking  down  behind  our  coach, 
and  there,  safe  and  sound,  at  the  foot  of  a  descent  regarded  as  "im- 


"THE  KIND  GREEN  COUNTRY' 


ENGLAND 


109 


HONISTER    PASS 


possible  for  motor  cars,"  is  one  of  those  inevitable,  unafraid,  and 
indestructible  American  contrivances  commonly  known  as  a  flivver  ! 
But  afterall.the  ideal  way  to  tour  the  Lake  District  is  not  by  motor 

coach  and  four. 
Traveling    in  this  de- 
i  g  h  t  f  u  1 1  y  old- 
fashioned  way  we 
have  time  to 
see,    to  taste, 
and  to  enjoy 
the     quiet 
beauty  o  f  the 
scenes    through 
which  we  make  our 

"COACH  AND  FORD" 


no 


ENGLAND 


lazy  way.  Let  us  be  glad  that  there  is  left  one  lovely  region  where 
the  old-time  four-in-hand  still  has  its  place  upon  the  modern  road. 
For  a  word-picture  that  suggests  and  reveals  much  of  the 
peculiar  charm  of  the  English  country-side,  I  cannot  do  better 
than  to  bring  before  you  these  paragraphs  from  a  novel  by 
Beatrice  Grimshaw,  who  tells  us  of  scenes  that  lie  "under  the 
gentle  English  sun,  soft  and  glittering  as  spun  glass.  The  shadows 
are  English  shadows,  blurred,  uncertain,  blue.  There  is  nothing 
in  the  world  so  green  as  this  English  grass,  sloping  up  beyond  the 
grey,  moss-painted  garden  walls,  field  after  field  inclined  against 
the  sky.  Oh,  the  gentle  country,  the  kind  green  country,  how 
it  purrs  at  you  as  it  lies  there  basking  in  the  tepid  sun!  It  has  no 
harm  in  it  —  it  would  never  do  you  ill,  this  tamed  and  fattened 
England.  Other  countries  you  have  to  handle  with  care,  or  they 
may  strike  at  you  with  claws  of  plague  and  fever;  they  pounce  upon 
you  with  tornadoes,  they  bite  you,  sting  you,  earthquake  and  torrent 


ENGLAND 


in 


"THIS  TAMED  AND  FATTENED  ENGLAND*' 

you  out  of  existence.  All  the  time,  whether  you  remember  it  or 
whether  you  do  not,  they  are  out  after  you.  They  mean  to  get 
you  if  they  can.  But  this  England  —  it  wants  us  to  pet  it,  I  could 
swear!"  This  voices  perfectly  the  unforgettable  impressions  that 
we  carry  with  us  as  we  leave  the  English  Lakeland. 

Although  we  have  merely  glided  with  modern  haste  from  lake 


112 


ENGLAND 


to  lake  and  shrine  to  shrine,  through  this  compact  but  enormously 
significant  little  earthly  paradise  of  the  poets  of  a  calmer,  happier 
yesterday,  we  feel  all  the  richer,  spiritually,  for  our  brief,  hurried  con- 
tacts with  its  memory-hallowed  places  and  its  classic  expressions  of 
natural  beauty. 

So,  too,  our  longer  journey  from  Land's  End  at  the  southwestern 
tip  of  Britain,  hither  to  these  northern  dales  that  skirt  the  hilly  bor- 
derland of  the  old  Scottish  kingdom,  has  given  us  a  fuller,  richer  con- 
cept of  the  land  that  men  call  England. 

To  see  and  know  all  England  as  it  should  be  seen  and  known,  would 
be  the  task  of  a  long,  strenuous,  and  studious  life.  We  have  but 
glimpsed  the.  glories  —  historic,  artistic,  scenic,  and  heroic  —  of  this 
land  that  has  meant  so  much  to  Humanity  and  to  Civilization.  But 
we  have  seen  and  learned  enough,  even  in  the  course  of  our  haphazard 
pursuit  of  the  picturesque  and  striking  things  that  appeal  to  the 
pleasure-seeking  wanderer,  to  fix  us  firmly  in  our  faith  that  without 
England  the  Earth  would  be  a  poorer  planet  —  the  history  of  Human- 
kind, a  story  lacking  one  of  its  grandest  chapters  —  and  Civilization, 
a  thing  that  had  failed  in  its  world-girdling  destiny. 


SCOTLAND 


%fc 

r 


GOTLAND 


'TAHE  conspicuous  part  which  Scotland  has 
•*•  played  on  the  great  stage  of  human 
activities  is  manifestly  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  area  of 
Scotland  and  to  the  numbers  of  her  sons.  That  a  people 
numerically  far  less  considerable  than  the  population  of  London 
should  have  left  so  deep  an  impression  on  the  world's  history,  re- 
ligion, literature,  and  industry,  inspires  an  admiring  and  a  sympa- 
thetic interest  in  the  homeland  of  that  people.  Every  year  thousands 
of  eager  travelers  throng  to  visit  the  historic  sites,  the  religious 
shrines,  the  literary  landmarks,  and  the  industrial  centers  of  Scotland. 
To  leave  England  and  cross  the  border  into  Scotland  is  like  com- 
ing out  of  a  carefully  kept  park  into  the  real  wide  open  country.  In 


u6 


SCOTLAND 


England  the  traveler  feels  the  charm  of  studiously  finished  scenery, 
as  he  motors  along  the  perfect  roads  between  the  accurately  clipped 
hedges,  beyond  which  lies  the  sleek  and  well-groomed  landscape, 
dotted' with  model  villages  or  dominated  by  the  towers  of  great 
cathedrals.  In  Scotland  he  feels  the  charm  of  a  land  not  yet  com- 
pletely tamed  by  man,  a  land  of  ruder  aspect,  wider  vistas,  freer  air. 


IN    SCOTLAND 


The  customs,  too,  were  once  upon  a  time  far  freer  than  in  Eng- 
land, if  we  are  to  credit  what  we  have  heard  of  Gretna  Green,  a  village 
just  three-quarters  of  a  mile  beyond  the  English  boundary  line,  a 
place  to  which  eloping  English  couples  formerly  came  to  marry  in 
the  freer  Scottish  way.  According  to  the  freer  Scottish  law,  a  mar- 
riage might  be  "constituted  by  declarations  made  by  the  man  and 
woman  that  they  presently  do  take  each  other  for  husband  and 
wife."  The  intending  bride  and  groom  had  only  to  declare  their 
wish  to  belong  to  one  another.  Witnesses  were  not  required  by  Scot- 


SCOTLAND 


117 


GRETNA    GREEN 


tish  law,  but  it  was  customary  to  call  them  in,  because  their  presence 
simplified  the  matter  of  evidence.     The  village  blacksmith  of  Gretna 
Green,  whose  forge  stood  at  the  cross-roads,  was 
a  most  willing  and  ever  available  witness.     He 
kept  an  informal  marriage  register  and  made 
a  very  good  thing  out  of  it,  for  the  happy 
couples    who    left    their     names     therein 
never  failed  to  leave  some  practical  token 
of  their   gratitude.       Thus    the    worthy 
blacksmith  helped    to    weld    the  chains 
for   about    two   hundred    couples   every 
year.     Since  1856,  however,  business  has 
been  somewhat  slack,  because  a  new  law 
passed  in  that  year  requires  one  of  the 
twain  to  reside  in  Scotland  for  three  weeks 
before  the  troth  may  be  plighted,  even  at 
the  anvil.   Thus  the  anvil  now  offers  no  greater 


SCOTLAND 


A   COUNTRY    POST  OFFICE 


advantages  in  the  matter  of  expedition  than  the  altar,  and  the 
present-day  blacksmith  devotes  his  time  to  shoeing  horses. 

From  Gretna  Green  good  roads  invite  us  northward,  through  a 

bare  and  open  pasture   region  alive 
with   woolly    flocks.      The 
sheep  bred   in  this  region 
are  chiefly  Cheviots,   a 
breed  which  takes   its 
name  from   the  range  of 
hills  stretching  along  the 
boundary  between  Scot- 
land and   England.      The 
Cheviot  breed  is  very  hardy 
and    the    straight  wool    is 
very  close-set.     The  unshorn 
sheep  on    the    range    have  a 
rather  unwashed  look,  and  as 

"GOOD  MORNING!" 


SCOTLAND 


119 


we  watch  the  operations  at  a  shearing  camp  we  learn  that  much 
grease  and  dirt  comes  off  with  the  wool.  It  is  not  unusual  for  the 
weight  of  a  clip  to  be  only  30  per  cent  net  wool. 

The  lamb  is  first  clipped  at  the  age  of  eight  or  ten  months,  for 
"lamb's  wool."      Later  clips  give  what  is  known  as  "wether  wool." 

Certain  breeds      ^^— — — —  of   sneep  will 

•  u  ^^*""*^  "-^-^ 

yield  as    ^^  ^-\     much  as 


THE    SELKIRK    RILLS 


ten  or  twelve  pounds  of  wool  per  head.  When  mechanical  clippers 
are  used  one  skilled  man  can  clip  two  hundred  sheep  a  day,  but 
we  find  the  shearers  working  with  the  old-style  shears.  The  coat 
comes  off  in  a  single  piece,  retaining  the  form  of  the  shorn  animal; 
at  first  glance  it  looks  as  if  the  poor  creature  had  been  skinned  alive. 
These  woolly  coats  are  rolled  and  stowed  in  big  bags  holding 


SCOTLAND 


SHEARING  TIME  IN  THE    sn  KIRKS 


a  hundred  weight.      The  freshly  shorn  animals  look  strangely  clean 

and  white  as  they  slip  from  the  shearing  benches. 

As  we  motor  northward  the  rolling  region  takes  on  a  barer,  bleaker 

look.    At  times  no  sign  of  human  habitation  can  be  seen.    Then 

suddenly  we  round 
a  bend  and  find  our- 
selves  confronted 
by  a  company  of 
youthful  clansmen, 
armed  with  Indian 
clubs  and  c  o  m  - 
manded  by  a  grace- 
ful Scottish  damsel. 
They  are  the  pupils, 
she  the  teacher  of  a 
little  highland 
school.  Except  the 
BUSY  SHEARS  school  house  there 


SCOTLAND 


121 


SHORN  CHEVIOTS 


WOOL  SACKS 


is  not  a  building  anywhere   in 
sight.     Some  of  these  chil- 
dren come  every  school- 
day  many  miles  on  foot 
from  their  scattered 
homes.   "Yes,"  said 
the  teacher,  "it  is 
hard   in  winter 
time." 

We  took  a  pic- 
ture of  the 
entire 
"  faculty  " 
and    the 
"  student 
body  " 
of   this 


122 


SCOTLAND 


CHAPEL   HOPE    SCHOOL,    ST.    MARY  S    LOCH 


isolated  educational  institution,  the  Chapel  Hope  School,  of  St. 
Mary's  Loch,  Yarrow,  Selkirkshire.  I  kept  my  promise  to  send 
them  a  few  copies  of  the  photograph.  In  acknowledgment  I  had  a 
letter  from  the  young  "faculty,"  in  which,  after  thanking  me,  she 


THE     ENTIRE     FACULTY   AND    STl-'UENT    BOD1* 


SCOTLAND 


123 


says  with  charming  Scotch  directness,  "If  you  could  send  six  pictures 
more,  each  child  would  have  one."  And  then  she  adds  with  Scotch 
hard  common  sense,  "but  if  you  do  not  send  the  pictures  the  children 
can  very  well  do  without." 

From  young  Scotland  our  thoughts  were  soon  turned  to  old  Scot- 
land for  that  same  night  we  slept  near  Melrose  Abbey,  the  most  ar- 
tistic and  most  famous  reminder  of  the  Catholic  era  of  pre-Reforma- 
tion  days.  The  Abbey  has  been  repeatedly  destroyed  by  warring 


THROUGH    THE    PASS 


armies,  repeatedly  rebuilt  and  rebeautified.  Reformers,  in  their 
pious  zeal,  have  profaned  and  defaced  it  in  the  name  of  their  religion. 
But  to-day,  painstakingly  restored,  its  broken  stones  replaced  one 
upon  another,  the  Abbey  stands  as  a  pathetic  reminder  of  the  piety 
and  art  that  reared  it,  the  brutality  and  intolerance  that  wrecked  it, 
and  the  belated  repentant  appreciation  of  its  beauty  that  assures  to- 
day the  conservation  of  its  lovely  shell. 

Within  the  Abbey,  near  the  chancel,  is  a  memorial  startling  in  its 


I24  SCOTLAND 

simplicity,  yet  dramatic  in  its  evocation  of  the  heroic  age  of  Scot- 
land. It  is  a  modest  stone  upon  which  a  heart  of  bright  red  immor- 
telles has  been  placed  by  pious  hands.  The  words  "Bannockburn" 
and  "Rest,  Brave  Heart"  tell  us  that  here  lies  the  heart  of  Bruce. 
Here,  beneath  the  ancient  pavement,  the  Scots  of  old  buried  the  heart 


MELROSE  ABBEY 


of   their    beloved    hero,     Robert     the 
Bruce,    who    was    crowned   King  of 
Scotland  in  the  year  1306,  won  the 
great   fight  against  the   English  at 
Bannockburn  in  1314,  and  died  a 
year  after  his  title  as  sovereign  of 
independent  Scotland   had    been 
definitely  recognized  by  England  in 
the  treaty  of  1328. 


WHERE     THE    HEART    OF 
ROBERT   BRUCE    LIES  BURIED 


SCOTLAND 


The  story  goes 
that  Robert  had 
made  a  vow  to  un- 
dertake a  pilgrimage 
to  the  Holy  Sepul- 
c  h  e  r  but  finding 
himself  at  the  point 
of  death  before  he 
could  fulfill  the  vow, 
he  begged  his  faith- 
ful friend  and  fol- 
lower, James  Doug- 
las, to  convey  his 
heart  to  Jerusalem. 
Douglas  set  out, 
bearing  the  heart  of 
the  Bruce,  but  per- 
ished fighting 
against  the  Moors 


FIVE    HUNDRED    YEARS   OF    AGE 


in  Spain.    Happily  his  precious  luggage 
was  not  lost;  the  heart  was  saved, 
brought  back  to  Scotland  and 
interred  beside  the  altar  of 
the  Abbey.    Proof  that  this 
tale  is  true  came  to  light  in 
1821,   when    the   tomb    of 
Bruce    at    Dunfermline    was 
opened    and  examination    of 
the  skeleton  revealed  a  sev- 
ered  breast    bone  —  severed 
five  hundred  years  before, 
for  the  removal  of  the  heart. 


THE    CHOIR  OF   MELROSE 


126 


SCOTLAND 


SCOTT  S   NOBI.E    MANSION 


The  ruin  of  another  famous  Abbey,  only  a  few  miles  from  Melrose, 
contains  the  tomb  of  one,  to  whose  world-famous  novels  we  owe  most 
of  our  notions  of  Scotland  and  her  history.  Sir  Walter  Scott's  last 
resting  place  is  in  the  aisle  of  the  ruined  north  transept.  The  Abbey 
estate  belonged  ^^^^^•••••^••^^^^^  at  one  time 
to  h  i  s  ^^^^  ^^^^  ancestors, 


THE  RIVER  TWEED    AT   ABBOTSFORD 


SCOTLAND 


127 


AT  ABBOTSFORD 


but  was  lost  through 
their  extravagance.  Sir 
Walter  used  to  say:  "We 
have  nothing  left  of  Dry- 
burgh,  except  the  right 
of  stretching  our  bones 
there."  In  life  the  novel- 
ist dwelt  in  dignified 
splendor  on  his  estate  of 
Abbotsford,  in  a  noble 
mansion  that  he  built  on 
the  banks  of  the  River 
Tweed.  There  Scot- 
land's literary  potentate 
reigned  and  entertained 
like  a  medieval  king  and 
wrote  and  labored  like  a 
modern  captain  of 


WHERE  THE   AUTHOR   OF   WAVERLY   WROTE 


128 


SCOTLAND 


APPROACHING     EDINBURGH 


industry — literary  in- 
dustry. His  popularity 
was  unrivaled  by  that 
of  any  living  poet  or 
prose  writer.  His  pro- 
ductivity was  equal  to 
that  of  five  or  six  of 
his  most  prolific  con- 
temporaries. Yet  he 
found  time  to  devote 
three  hours  every  day, 
for  twenty -five  years, 
to  routine  legal  and 
clerical  work  as  Clerk 
of  the  Session  and  as 
Sheriff,  which  offices 
brought  him  a 
considerable 
income. 


UKYBURGH   ABBEY 


SCOTLAND 


129 


His  literary  earnings  were  for 
those    days   enormous. 
While  turning  out  the 
Waverly  Novels,  two 
or    three    a    year, 
anonymously,   as 
'The  Great  Un- 
kno  wn," 
heat 
the 


same  time  publish- 
ed so  much  fine 
prose  and  poetry 
over  his  own  name 
that  no  one  could 
suspect  him  of  be- 
ing the  author  of 
"Waverly"  and 
the  n  um  erou  s 
stories  that  fol- 


OOTHIC   DETAIL 


I30  SCOTLAND 

lowed  that  popular  tale  and  became  famous  as  the  Waverly  Novels. 
For  one  man  to  produce  so  vast  a  literary  output  appeared  a  physical 
impossibility.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  review,  as  Walter  Scott, 
his  own  novels  by  The  Great  Unknown.  He  was  very  fair  and  just 
in  his  criticism  of  those  novels  and  used  his  reviews  as  a  means  of 


MODERN     EDINBURGH 


SCOTLAND 


THE   ROYAL   INSTITUTION 


explaining  the  motives  of  the  mysterious  author  and  clearing  up 
misunderstandings  —  an  opportunity  that  any  writer  of  to-day  would 
prize.  The  foreign  books  upon  his  shelves  remind  us  that  he  had 
mastered  French  and  Italian  before  he  was  fourteen,  and  German  a 
few  years  later.  He  read  five  times  as  much  as  the  average  thought- 
ful man  reads  in  a  lifetime,  and  yet  found  time  to  play  the  hospitable 


PRINCES   STREET 


132 


SCOTLAND 


A  DORIC    COLONNADE 


laird  to  hosts  of  guests  in  his  baronial  castle  and  to  carry  on  two 
quite  distinct  and  separate  literary  campaigns.  Like  most  men  of 
artistic  temperament  he  was  no  business  man.  The  failure  of  his 

publishing  partners  ruined 
him.    At  the  age  of  fifty- 
five  he  found  himself  bank- 
rupt,  confronted 
with   obli- 


1N  THE 

ATHENS  OF  THE  NORTH 


SCOTLAND 


133 


ions  of  about  seven  hundred 
thousand  dollars.    He  resolved  to 
pay  every  penny,  earning  the  en- 
tire sum  with  his  pen.     In  two 
years    he  had  made  and 
paid  two  hundred  thousand 
dollars.      Then  in  failing 
health,  he  wrote  on  and 
on  and  finally  when  too 
weak  to  write  he  dictated. 
Ivanhoe  was  dictated  in 
agony  by   the  dying 
novelist.     The  great  debt 
'••   was  nearly    paid  when, 
mercifully,   his   mind  failed 

and  left  him  with  the  com- 
w 
forting    delusion    that    he   had 

successfully  completed  his  task. 
his  last  year  the  government 
placed  a  ship  at  his  disposal  and  he  was 
taken  for  a  cruise  around  the  Mediterranean. 
Thence  in  1832  he  hastened  home  to  end,  at  Abbotsford,  in  his 
beloved  Scotland,  a  life  than  which  few  nobler,  richer,  and  more 
admirable  lives 
have  left  their  im- 
press on  the  his- 
tory and  letters  of 
a  nation. 

It  is  fitting  that 
the  most  con- 
spicuous  m  o  n  u  - 
ment  in  Scot- 
land's capi- 
tal should 


CALTON   HILL 


rHE    UNFINISHED  TEMPLE 
OMMEMORATINO  WATERLOO 


134 


SCOTLAND 


be  a  beautiful  memorial 
to  Walter  Scott.  It  is 
superbly  placed;  to 
right  and  left  stretch 
long  lovely  gardens  gay 
with  flowers — while 
from  his  seat  beneath 
the  graceful  Gothic 
spire  Sir  Walter  looks 
down  upon  the  ani- 
mate d  panorama  of 
Princes  Street  —  that 
prince  of  streets  and 
proudest  of  all  Edin- 
burgh's thoroughfares. 
It  is  one  of  the  most 
characterful  avenues  in 
the  world.  As  a  bus- 
iness street  it  is  one- 


SCOTLAND 


135 


sided.  "It  is  but  half  a  street!"  exclaimed  a  jealous  citizen  of 
Glasgow.  Commerce,  it  is  true,  claims  but  one  side  of  Princes 
Street;  beauty  and  grandeur  claim  the  other  —  the  beauty  of  the 
Princes  Gardens  and  the  grandeur  of  the  classic  Grecian  struc- 
ture of  the  Royal  Institution  with  its  superb  Doric  colonnades. 
Beyond  the  delicate  spire  of  the  Scott  Memorial  rises  the  tower  of 


WAITING   TO    SEE   THE    KING   AND    QUEEN 


the  North  British  Railway  Hotel,  heavily  modern  in  design  —  and 
in  the  distance,  on  the  crest  of  Calton  Hill,  the  colossal  columns  of 
an  uncompleted  Parthenon  are  lifted  against  the  sky.  A  reproduction 
of  the  Parthenon  was  to  have  crowned  this  Scottish  acropolis  of  the 
"Athens  of  the  North."  This  was  to  have  been  a  national  monu- 
ment commemorating  the  victory  of  Waterloo  —  but  the  subscrip- 
tion list  promptly  met  its  Waterloo  when  it  was  submitted  to  the 
consideration  of  the  canny  Scottish  public.  Calton  Hill  is  rich  in 
ill-assorted  monuments.  One,  like  a  lighthouse,  is  the  Nelson  Mon- 


136 


SCOTLAND 


ument,  honoring  the  hero  of  the  great  naval  victory  over  Napoleon's 
fleets  in  1805  off  Cape  Trafalgar.  Another  resembles  an  Egyptian 
obelisk;  others  recall  successive  architectural  epochs.  All  this  me- 
lange of  styles  contributes,  as  a  Scotch  guide  book  says,  "in  no  small 
measure  to  that  bold  and  defiant  architectural  discord  which  consti- 
tutes the  genius  of  Edinburgh."  The  sky  line  of  the  city  offers  to  the 


THE   NATIONAL   GALLERY   AND  THE     OLD   CITY   ON   THE   CASTLE    HILL 

eye  a  delightful  diversity  of  silhouette.  We  may  turn  from  the  severe 
"classicalities"  of  Calton  Hill  to  survey  the  charmingly  quaint 
"  medievalities"  of  the  long  ridge  that  rises  toward  and  seems  to 
culminate  quite  naturally  in  the  grim  and  famous  castle  of  the  Scot- 
tish kings,  superbly  set  upon  the  rocky  summit. 

Edinburgh  Castle  looms  high  above  the  old  town  and  the  new. 
It  is  one  of  the  great  sights  of  the  world,  one  of  those  things  that 
stamp  themselves  forever  in  the  memory  of  every  traveler.  It  is 


SCOTLAND 


137 


superb  from  every  point  of  view.  It  seems  to  rise  like  some  citadel 
of  medieval  romance  in  lonely,  frowning  isolation  —  even  as  we  view 
it  from  the  busy  confusion  and  modernity  of  Princes  Street. 

It  was  upon  the  easily  defended  summit  of  the  Castle  Rock  that 
some  early  chieftain  of  some  barbarous,  prehistoric  clan  must  have 
reared  the  first  crude  stockade  under  the  protection  of  which  his 


EDINBURGH    CASTLE   AND    THE    WEST    PRINCES    STREET   GARDENS 

people  built  the  mud  and  fagot  hovels  of  the  village  to  which  cen- 
turies later  Edwin,  King  of  the  invading  Northumbrians,  gave  the 
name  of  "Edwin's  Burgh" — whence  the  "Edinburgh"  of  to-day. 

Until  the  days  of  the  Stuarts,  Edinburgh  was  regarded  as  a  rough 
border  stronghold  but  in  the  fifteenth  century  it  had  become  the 
recognized  capital  of  Scotland  and  the  center  of  Scottish  culture. 

By  this  time  the  stockade  had  become  a  granite  castle  —  sur- 
rounding and  protecting  the  palace  of  the  Scottish  kings.  To-day 


SCOTLAND 


FROM  THE   CASTLE   HILL 


this  grand  old  castle  is  the 
dominating    sight    of 
the   great  modern 
city  that  spreads 
away  from  the 
i    base  o  f  t  h  e 
historic  rock. 
The  deep  and 
serene  gar- 
dens   that    lie 
yT      within  the  shad- 
ow of  the  castled 
cliff  are  man-made  gar- 
Their  site  was  once 
—  the  Nor'Loch.    The 


dens. 

the  bed  of  a  lake 

waters  of  this  lake   of   yesterday  were  drained  away,  and  into  the 

depression  were  poured  the  verdant  glories  of  the  gardens  of  to-day. 

The  traveler's  first  "close-up"  of  the  castle  itself  is  enjoyed  from 


AT  THE  BASE  OF  THE  CASTLE  ROCK 


SCOTLAND 


139 


the  spacious  esplanade  or  drill  yard  which  spreads  its  surprising  level- 
ness  on  the  high  ridge  before  the  eastern  gate.  Loquacious  guides  — 
Scotchmen  can  be  loquacious  —  when  there  is  money  in  it  —  lead 
the  traveler  under  the  portcullis  and  up  winding  passage  ways  and 
through  the  various  solid  old  constructions  that  make  up  this  historic 
royal  stronghold.  They  show  us  the  old  regalia  of  Scotland  —  includ- 


THE    STRONGHOLD  OF  THE    SCOTTISH  KINGS 


ing  the  sword  of  Robert  Bruce  and  other  precious  "Honors  of  Scot- 
land." They  lead  us  into  the  "wee  room"  of  Queen  Mary  where  the 
baby  who  became  James  the  First  of  England  first  saw  the  dimness 
of  a  murky  day.  We  lean  out  of  the  tiny  window  from  which  the 
royal  babe  was  lowered  in  a  basket  to  be  conveyed  in  secrecy  to  the 
surer  security  of  Stirling  Castle.  This  James  the  First  of  England 
was  also  James  the  Sixth  of  Scotland  or,  as  sometimes  written  by  the 


140 


SCOTLAND 


wicked  wits  of  his  day,  "James  I.  6."  To  grasp  the  humor  of  this 
form  -  take  down  your  Bible  and  turn  to  the  6th  verse  of  the  first 
book  of  the  General  Epistle  of  St.  James.  There  you  will  find  re- 
flected the  character  of  this  son  of  the  dastard  Darnley  and  the 


EDINBURGH   CASTLE   AND   THE    ESPLANADE 


fickle  Mary  Queen  of  Scots.  "For  he  that  wavereth  is  like  a  wave  of 
the  sea  driven  with  the  wind  and  tossed.  For  let  not  that  man  think 
that  he  shall  receive  anything  of  the  Lord.  A  double-minded  man  is 
unstable  in  all  his  ways."  James  was  even  "unstable  on  his  pins"  — 
as  well  as  in  his  policies. 
From  the  "wee  room" 
we  are  led  to  the  impres- 
sively restored  Banquet- 
ing Hall,  and  thence  to 
another  tiny  room  asso- 
ciated with  another 
Scottish  queen,  the 
smallest  chapel  in 


SCOTLAND 


141 


Great  Britain  and  the  old- 
est ecclesiastical  "pile" 
in  Scotland ;  it  bears  the 
revered  name  of 
that  good  Saxon 
princess,  M  a  r  - 
garet,  queen  o  f 
Malcolm  of  t  h  e 
Big  Head.  It  is 
only  i6H  feet 
long  by  icH  feet 
wide.  It  is  used 
now  principally  for 
the  baptismal  cere- 
monies of  the  children 
of  soldiers  garrisoned  in  the 
glorious  old  Castle  on  this  height. 
In  front  of  the  Chapel  is  the 
big  gun  called  Mons  Meg.  It  bears  a  Belgian  name,  and  came,  so 
legend  runs,  four  hundred  years  ago  from  that  Belgian  city  near 
which  so  many  gallant  Scots  fell  in  the  early  days  of  the  World 
War.  It  is  of  strange  construction,  made  of  a  bundle  of  wrought 
iron  bars,  encircled  by  scores  of  external  iron  rings.  It  fired  a 
solid  shot  of  granite  twenty  inches  in  diameter  and  weighing  330 
pounds,  but  its  range  of  fire  is  not  stated. 

The  mile-long  street  that  leads  from  the  Castle  down  past  St. 
Giles'  Cathedral  with  its  crown  of  stone,  to  the  Palace  of  Holyrood 
at  the  far  end  of  the  Canongate,  is  sometimes  called  the  Royal  Mile, 
for  up  and  down  its  length  the  royal  folk 
of  olden  times  were  wont 
to  make  their  way  in  state 
between  their  newer  royal 
dwelling  of  Holyrood  and 
their  ancient  royal  for- 


ST.    MARGARET  8   CHAPEL 

THE  OLDEST    BUILDING   IN    EDINBURGH 


MONS   MEG 


142 


SCOTLAND 


tress.  Thus  they  were  sure  to  pass  the  doorway  of  the  most  signifi- 
cant of  Scotland's  churches  —  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Giles.  It  has 
been  Catholic  and  Protestant.  Mass  has  been  said  at  its  forty  old- 
time  altars.  John  Knox  has  preached  from  its  reformed  pulpit. 
Protestants  pray  in  its  modern  pews  to-day.  Memorials  to  the 


ST.  GILES' 


great  dead  of  Scotland  adorn  its  aisles  and  chapels.      It  has  become 
the  Westminster  Abbey  of  the  northern  kingdom-or  North  Britain 

as  Scotland  is  sometimes  called.    The 
exterior  is  impressive;  the  tower  is 
crowned  by    arches  and  pinnacles 
that  simulate  a  crown  of  stone. 
The    interior    is 
strangely 

JJ  beautiful. 

Some  one  has 


THE   HEART  OF 
MIDLOTHIAN 


SCOTLAND 


THE    GRAVE  OF 
JOHN    KNOX 


PARLIAMENT    SQUARE 

said    that    "Presbyterianism    has    quietly 
acquiesced  in  the  old  Catholic  conception  of 
ecclesiastical  architecture"  —  and  that  —  "the 
present  appearance  of  the  interior  would  have 
sadly  shocked  the  good,  earnest  old  Covenanters 
who  strove  so  hard  and  conscientiously  to  eliminate 
the  beautiful  from  religion." 

Between  the  church  and  the  old  Parliament  House,  now  the  Supreme 
Court  of  Scotland,  there  is  a  spot  in  the  pavement  marked  with  an  in- 
set of  the  letters  I.  K.  and  the  figures  1572.  The  date  gives  us  a  clue. 
The  I  is  an  old-time  J.  It  stands  for  John,  —  the  K  for  Knox.  Here 
then  lies  John  Knox  who,  as  Stevenson  says,  "made  Scotland  over 
again  in  his  own  image  —  the  indefatigable,  undissuadable  John 
Knox.  He  sleeps  within  call  of  St.  Giles',  the  church  that  so  often 
echoed  to  his  preaching."  The  church-yard  is  now  Parliament 
Square;  all  signs  of  other  tombs  have  been  obliterated.  The  only 


144 


SCOTLAND 


monument  in  sight  is  a  bronze  equestrian  statue  of  King  Charles  the 
Second,  who  turns  his  back  upon  the  plate  in  the  pavement  that  marks 
the  grave  of  the  reformer. 

The  traveler  who  keeps  his  eye  upon  the  pavement  of  old  Edinboro' 
will  discover  many  reminders  of  the  vanished  past.  A  heart  outlined 
in  paving  stones  marks  the  site  of  the  old  Tolbooth  prison,  immortal- 


THE   HOUSE   OF  JOHN   KNOX 


ized  by  Walter  Scott  in  the  "Heart  of  Midlothian."  That  ancient 
goal,  where  Erne  Deans  was  held  in  durance  vile,  was  finally  demolished 
in  1817.  Farther  on,  a  circle  in  the  pave- 
ment marks  the  spot  where 
in  the  cruel  old  days  of 
superstition,  witches  were 
burned  in  public  in 
the  Canongate  within 


WHERE  WITCHES 
WERE  BURNED 


SCOTLAND 


THE    BOOK   SHOP  IN   JOHN   KNOX  8  HOUSE 


sight  of  the  windows  of 
the  house  which  was  the 
home  of  Scotland's  great 
and  strenuous  reformer. 
John  Knox's  house  is 
now  one  of  the  double- 
starred  sights  of  Edin- 
burgh to  which  tourists 
are  proudly  and  thrift- 
ily conducted  by  the 
canny  cabbies  of  the 
capital.  One  day  as  a 
particularly  Presbyterian 
jehu  reined  up  at  the 
door  and  solemnly  an- 
nounced to  his  fare  —  a 
hurried  Jewish  tourist 


ANOTHER   CLOSE 


SCOTLAND 

from  New  York— "This,  Sir,   is  the 
house  of  John  Knox"--he  noted 
that  the  fare  did  appear  impressed. 
In  dignified,  deliberate  tones  he 
reiterated    the   inspiring  infor- 


mation.   The  alien  Hebrew 
glanced  at  the  house  and 
queried    carelessly ,    "Who 
was  John   Knox?"      The 
cabby  gripped  the  box  seat, 
turned  red  and  pale  by  turns 
and  thundered  to  his 
shrinking  passenger,  "Mon 
-  do   ye  never  read  your 
Bible?" 

Opening  off  the  Royal 
Mile  are  countless  "closes," 
or  steep  alley-ways,  ^that 
afford  striking  glimpses  of 


STEEP,  NARROW  STREETS,  CALLK1 
"CLOSES"  OR  "WYNDS" 


SCOTLAND 


147 


the  lower  city.  The  ancient  buildings,  pierced  by  these  slits  and 
separated  by  these  flights  of  public  stairs,  were  once  the  abode  of 
Edinburgh's  nobility  and  fashion,  but  the  fine  folk  of  to-day  live  in 
the  new  city  far  below,  and  leave  these  former  haunts  of  elegance 
to  the  plain  people— the  very  plain  and  very  poor  people  of  to-day. 


CANONCATF. 


Many  of  the  houses  in  Canongate  date  from  the  middle  of  the  six- 
teenth century.  Canongate  was  once  a  separate  borough,  and  it 
had  a  motto,  "Sic  Itur  ad  Astra,"  perhaps  the  bitter  tribute  of  some 
weary  climber  to  the  eight-  and  ten-story  buildings  which  prevail  in 
this  ancient  neighborhood.  And,  as  if  to  prove  their  age,  the  many 
little  "closes"  vent  their  ancient  odors  on  the  public  way.  Here  had 


SCOTLAND 


THE   WHITE   HORSE   INN 


dwelt,  doubtless,  the  Scottish  wanderer  who  when  overcome  by  home- 
sickness was  wont  to  exclaim,  "Sweet  Edinboro',  I  can  smell  thee  noo." 
In  the  White  Horse  Close  is  the  famous  White  Horse  Inn,  once 
the  best  hotel  in  town,  and  frequented,  as  Scott  tells  us,  by  the  noble- 


SCOTLAND 


149 


THE  WHITE  HORSE  CLOSE 


men  and  gentlemen  who  followed  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie  when  he  came 
in  1745  to  claim  the  throne  of  Scotland  and  dwelt  for  a  brief  space  as 
Scotland's  King  in  Holyrood,  the  adjacent  palace  of  his  ancestors. 


OLD   HOLYROOD  PALACE  IN 
THE  MODERN    SLUMS 


SCOTLAND 


THE    PALACE  AND   THE    CHAPEL 


This  grim  fortress-like  abode  of  royalty  lies  now  next  door  to  the  slums 
of  Edinburgh.  Modern  royalty,  when  in  residence  there,  has  for  its 
neighbors  the  poorest  of  the  poor.  The  history  of  Holy  rood  Palace 
reads  like  a  melodrama  of  royal  recklessness  and  crime,  in  which  the 
leading  players  are  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  and  her  murderous  band  of 
husbands  and  lovers,  whose  deeds,  despite  the  glamour  of  romance, 
seem  strangely  kin  to  the  doings  of  the  lower  criminal  classes  of  to-day. 

Much  has  been  written  in 
defense  and  much  has 
been  written  in 
abuse  of  the  fair 
young  widow  of 
Francis   II  of 
France  who  at 
at  the  age  of 
nineteen   re- 
turned from 


QUEEN    MARV's 
BATH 


SCOTLAND  15! 

the  gayeties  of  Paris  to  the  grimnesses  of  her  Scottish  capital,  which 
must  have  been  indeed  a  grim  place  in  those  early  days. 

'Tishard  to  picture  one  who  had  been  queen  in  France  dwelling 
contentedly  in  the  four  forbidding  rooms  of  Holyrood  which  are 
shown  to  us  to-day  as  the  apartments  of  the  much-loved  Mary.  We 
can  more  easily  visualize  her  in  the  audience  chamber,  disputing  with 
John  Knox,  who  has  left  a  tribute  to  her  "proud  mind,  crafty  wit,  and 


HOLYROOD PALACE 


indurate  heart  against  God  and  truth."  In  the  bed-room  may  still 
be  seen  the  actual  bed  on  which  she  slept.  It  was  in  this  apartment 
that  the  Queen  was  dining  with  her  favorite,  David  Rizzio,  when  the 
assassins,  tools  of  Darnley,  her  second  husband,  dragged  the  terror- 
stricken  Italian  secretary  from  her  side  and  stabbed  him  to  death. 
Formerly  a  dark  stain  on  the  floor  was  pointed  out  to  visitors  as 
Rizzio's  life  blood,  but  now  the  morbidly  curious  must  be  satisfied 


IS2  SCOTLAND 

with  a  brass  plate  marking  the  spot.  Henry  Darnley,  who  was  her 
distant  kinsman,  is  perhaps  the  least  attractive  figure  among  all  the 
players  in  Queen  Mary's  tragedy  of  love.  Insolent  and  selfish  in  his 
triumphs,  weak  and  cowardly  in  adversity,  he  was,  as  Swinburne  says, 
"a  hapless  and  worthless  bridegroom."  Even  before  Bothwell's 
henchman  strangled  him  he  sank  into  comparative  obscurity,  for  the 
Queen  had  already  turned  from  him.  The  exchange  of  Darnley  for 


A  "PLAYGROUND"  FOR  THE  POOR 

Bothwell  may  have  seemed  advantageous  for  a  time,  for  Bothwell  was 
strong  and  able,  but  he  was  also  coarse  and  imperious.  The  marriage 
of  Bothwell  and  Mary  was  the  beginning  of  the  end,  for  only  a  few 
weeks  later  their  army  was  defeated,  Mary  surrendered  herself  to  the 
Scottish  nobles  who  had  revolted,  and  Bothwell  fled  from  Scotland. 
Then  followed  an  almost  continuous  captivity  of  nearly  twenty  years 
-  and  at  last  the  tragic  release  of  her  spirit,  by  order  of  Elizabeth 
in  1587,  on  the  block  at  Fotheringay. 


SCOTLAND 


153 


Adjacent  to  the  palace  are  some  of  the  slummiest  slums  to  be 
found  anywhere  in  Scotland  —  slums  the  like  of  which  should  not  be 
found  anywhere  in  this  rich,  wonderful  world  of  ours.  The  horrid 
tenements  of  the  Cowgate  are  jammed  deep  into  the  sordid  depths  of 
poverty's  abyss.  In  pictures  these  hopeless  homes  look  fairly  livable 
and  decent;  but  photography  glosses  over  much  and  fails  to  register 
the  awful  atmosphere  of  this  congested  quarter.  Then,  too,  the  out- 


ward neatness  of  the  streets  and  "closes,"  the  sanitary  whitewash, 
and  the  well-swept  pavements  give  a  too  favorable  visual  impression 
of  what  is  in  reality  abjectly  miserable  in  aspect.  We  noted  with 
pitying  eye  the  one  spacious  "playground"  of  the  neighborhood;  the 
children  who  can  play  amid  such  forbidding  surroundings  must  be 
possessed  of  preternatural  blitheness  —  or  must  be  ignorant  of  all  the 


154 


SCOTLAND 


brighter  things  of  life.  This  modern  civilization  of  ours  is  an  exas- 
perating puzzle.  It  gives  us  this  horrid  "playground"  in  the  slums 
and  it  gives  us  at  the  same  time  all  the  surpassing  structural  splendors 
of  this  impressive  "Modern  Athens."  Of  these  we  note  with  admira- 
tion the  Usher  Hall,  a  magnificent  concert  auditorium,  the  gift  of  a 
millionaire  distiller  and  the  M'Ewan  Hall,  an  equally  magnificent 
lecture  auditorium,  the  gift  of  a  millionaire  brewer.  Thus  Edinburgh 
may  be  said  to  owe  its  temples  of  music  and  oratory  indirectly  to  the 
unquenchable  thirst  of  the  Scots  (and  their  friends  and  neighbors), 


THE   UNIVERSITY   OF   EDINBURGH 


SCOTLAND 


and  more  directly  to  the  munificence  of  those  philanthropists  who 
have  found  the  mission  of  assuaging  that  thirst  so  richly  profitable. 
Another  Edinburgh  institution  which  owes  much  to  generous 
benefactors  is  the  University.  It  was  founded  in  1583  under  a  royal 
charter  granted  by  King  James  VI,  and  is  the  youngest  of  the  four 
great  Scottish  universities.  The  grounds  include  the  site  of  the  old 
church  of  St.  Mary-in-the-Field,  the  scene  of  the  murder  of  Henry 
Darnley.  The  present  main  building,  enclosing  a  spacious  quad- 
rangle, is  in  the  classical  style,  erected  from  designs  by  Robert  Adam, 
the  great  Scottish  architect  and  furniture  designer.  The  corner  stone 
was  laid  in  1789,  but  the  dome,  crowned  by  the  bronze  figure  of  Youth 
bearing  the  torch  of  Knowledge,  was  not  completed  until  1883,  the 
tercentenary  of  the  university's  foundation.  Like  the  other  Scottish 
universities,  this  institution  benefits  from  the  $10,000,000  trust  fund 
established  in  1901  by  Andrew  Carnegie. 


SCOTLAND 


The  thoughtful  trav- 
eler will  note  with  in- 
terest in  the  crowded 
old  Calton  Burying 
Ground,  A  the 


CALTON    HII.L    FROM   THE 
NORTH    BRIDGE 

austere    mausoleum  of  David 
Hume,  the  philosopher,  historian, 
and  economist  who  enunciated 
some  of  the  underlying  principles 
of  modern   economics.      David 
Hume  was  one   of  the  first  to 
point  out  the  true  relation  be- 
tween   money   and  wealth. 
"Money,"  saidHume,"is  none  of 
the  wheels  of  trade;  it  is 
the  oil  which  renders 
the  motion  of  t  h  e 
wheels  more  smooth 
and  easy." 


SCOTLAND  157 

The  gist  of  Hume's  economic  philosophy,  that  "everything  in  the 
world  is  purchased  by  labor,  and  our  passions  are  the  only  causes  of 
labor,"  might  have  been  approved  by  that  great  American  whose 
statue  in  bronze  stands  in  incongruous  juxtaposition  to  the  mauso- 
leum of  the  philosopher.  A  noble  bronze  figure  of  Abraham  Lincoln 
stands  here  as  a  memorial  to  the  many  brave  men  of  Scottish  descent 
who,  in  the  days  of  civil  strife  between  the  North  and  South,  fought 
and  died  for  the  preservation  of  the  Union  under  the  flag  of  which 
they  had  lived  and  prospered  in  the  new  world.  On  the  pedestal  is  a 
quotation  from  one  of  Lincoln's  speeches,  "to  preserve  the  jewel  of 
liberty  in  the  framework  of  freedom."  This  turns  our  thoughts  to 
another  Edinburgh  cemetery,  which  is  a  landmark  in  the  age-long 


A  HISTORIAN  AND  A  MAKER  OF  HISTORY 


158 


SCOTLAND 


struggle  to  preserve  the  framework  of  freedom.  For  it  was  m  Grey- 
friars  Churchyard,  on  February  28,  1638,  that  the  Covenanters 
adopted  and  signed  that  solemn  bond  by  which  they  defied  King 
Charles  I  and  Archbishop  Laud,  and  bound  themselves,  let  come 
what  might,  to  maintain  the  Presbyterian  doctrine  as  the  sole  re- 


GREYFRIARS 


ligion  of  Scotland. 
Persecutions,  t  o  r  - 
tures,  imprisonment, 
even  death,  had  no 
terrors  for  them. 
There,  too,  in  Grey- 
friars  Churchyard, 
as  if  inspired  by  their 
example  of  forti- 


-W^: 


THE   PRISON    OY  THE   COVENANTERS 


SCOTLAND 


tude,  lived  and  died 
that  faithful  dog,  whose 
story  has  been  told  in 
the  most  touching  of 
a  1 1  dog  -  biographies, 
"Greyfriars  Bobby." 
The  stone  beside 
which  that  tireless 
little  guardian  slept, 
night  after  night  for 
fourteen  years,  guard- 
ing his  master's  grave, 
is  to  us  an  even  more 
eloquent  memorial 
than  the  fountain  near 
the  gate,  bearing 
his  effigy  in 
bronze. 

Ofttime? 
we   hear  a 
Scot  refer  affec- 
tionately to  Edin- 
burgh as"Auld  Reekie." 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 


Americans   might  well    call  Pittsburgh 
"New  Reekie,"  for  "reek"  is  a  very 
pure  Scotch  term    for    atmos- 
phere that  is  not  pure, 
but  is  smoky,  and  liter- 
ally reeks  with  reek. 
Seeking   purer 
air    the   traveler 
may  make   his 
way  to   the  sub- 


WHERE   THE    FAITHFUL 
DOG   KEPT    VIGIL 


:6o 


SCOTLAND 


urban  fishing  village  of  New  Haven,  on  the  shores  of  the  Firth  of 
Forth.  There  dwells  a  fisher  population  said  to  be  descended  from 
a  colony  o  f  Scandinavians  who 
settled  on  the  Firth  long  centu- 
ries ago.  The  fish-wives  of 
New  Haven  still  swing 
their  thick,  full  Scan- 
dinavian skirts,  and 
their  tow-headed 
children  smile  at  us 
with  the  blue  eyes 
of  the  old-time  Vikings 
of  the  North. 

On  beyond  New  Haven, 
farther  up  the  Firth,  there  looms  the 
great  Forth  Bridge,  the  first  of  great 

cantilever  bridges.      It  is  a  wonderwork  of  man,  so  vast,  so  intricate, 
so  overpowering,  that  it  almost  takes  rank  in  impressiveness  with 


NEW   HAVEN   ON   THE   FIRTH  OF   FORTH 


SCOTLAND 


161 


the  great   works  of   Nature, 
bridge  is  more  than  a  mile  and 
half    long,  and  the  spans,  of 
1,710    feet,   are  the    widest 
in  the  world,  with  the  ex- 
ception   of    those    on  the 


The 


great  bridge  across 
the  St.  Lawrence 
near  Quebec.  The 
rails  of  the  Forth 
Bridge  lie  160  feet 
above  the  water; 
the  tops  of  the 
spans,  360  feet. 
Thirty -eight  thou- 
sand tons  of  steel 
were  used  in  the 
construction  of  the 
bridge.  It  was 


162 


SCOTLAND 


completed  in  1889,  after  seven  years  of  work  and  an  expenditure  of 
more  than  fifteen  million  dollars. 


Among  the  many  castles 
that  rise  like  milestones  of 
history  along  the  tour- 
ist highways  of  the 
Scotland  of  to-day 
looms  the  square, 
sombre   ruin    of 
the    palace    of 
Li  n  I  i  t  hgow, 
another    fortified 
home  of  Scottish 
royalty,  the  older 
portions  of    the 
structure  dating 
from  the  fifteenth 


SCOTLAND 


163 


century.  There  in  St. 
Michael's  Church,  just  out- 
side the  palace  walls,  King 
James  IV  was  warned  by 
an  apparition  (at  least  so 
tradition  says)  of  the  dis- 
aster which  was  about  to 
overtake  him  at  Flodden 
Field.  A  little  chamber  at 
the  top  of  the  tower  on  the 
northwest  corner  is  known 
as  Queen  Margaret's  Bow- 
er, because  here  waited 
and  watched  in  vain  the 
good  queen,  while  the  Scot- 
tish army  was  annihilated 
and  her  husband  killed  by 
the  forces  which  her 
brother,  King  Henry  VIII 
of  England,  had  sent  to  oppose  them.  But  Linlithgow  is  best 


SPANNING   THE    FIRTH    OF    FORTH 


I64 


SCOTLAND 


L1NLITHGOW  PALACE 


cally  shared  with   Edinburgh   the 
rank  and  privileges  of  a  capital 
city,    and     Stirling    Castle 
from  the  days  of  Alexander 
I,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
twelfth   century,  to   t  h  e 
union   of   England   and 
Scotland    in    1603,    was 
closely    connected  with 
the  fortunes  of  the  rulers  of 
Scotland.      No  visitor  can 


known  to  us  be- 
cause in  another 
chamber  of  the 
palace  was  born 
Margaret's  grand- 
daughter, destined 
to  fill  so  large  and 
so  conspicuous  a 
place  in  history  as 
Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots. 

But  far  more 
interesting,  and  far 
more  significant  in 
Scottish  history,  is 
another  castle  a 
few  miles  farther 
from  Edinburgh. 
The  town  of  Stir- 
ling for  several 
centuries  practi- 


SCOTLAND 


165 


come  to    Stirling  without  repeating   to  himself  the  immortal  lines 
of  Robert  Burns: 

Scots,  wha  ha'e  wi'  Wallace  bled, 

Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  often  led, 

Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 
Oj  to  victory. 

Now  the  day  and  now's  the  hour; 

See  the  front  o'  Battle  lour. 


ANOTHER   HOME   OF    SCOTTISH    ROYALTY 


For  from  the  heights  of  Stirling  Castle  a  statue  of  the  Bruce  looks 
down  upon  seven  famous  Scottish  battlefields.  It  was  at  Stirling 
Bridge  in  1 297  that  the  Scotch  under  Sir  William  Wallace  defeated 
the  English  invaders.  The  night  before  the  battle  Wallace  camped 
near  the  hill  called  Abbey  Craig,  on  which  now  stands  the  national 
memorial  to  him.  On  the  morning  of  September  n,  1297,  the 
English  began  to  cross  Stirling  Bridge.  Wallace  held  his  army  in 


1 66 


SCOTLAND 


leash  until  about  half  the  English  forces  had  crossed;  then  he  loosed 
the  attack.  The  English  were  thrown  into  utter  disorder,  and  those 
who  remained  on  the  south  side  of  the  Forth  fled  in  panic  after  first 
setting  fire  to  the  bridge.  Wallace  pursued  the  fleeing  English,  and 
raided  the  north  of  England  as  far  as  Newcastle. 

Returning  to  Scotland  he  was  elected  guardian  of  the  Kingdom 


STIRLINO   CASTLE 


and  in  statesman-like  fashion  set  himself  to  the  task  of  securing  order 
in  the  affairs  of  his  count  ry .  But  peace  was  not  to  be.  Within  a  year 
the  English  king,  with  an  overwhelming  force,  advanced  northward, 
and  after  much  maneuvering  compelled  Wallace  to  give  battle  at 
Falkirk,  another  of  those  seven  battlefields  which  lie  within  sight  of 
Stirling  Castle.  Defeated,  Wallace  fled,  burning  Stirling  Castle  and 
the  town  behind  him.  For  several  years  his  history  is  then  obscure 


SCOTLAND 


167 


THE  BRUCE 


but  in  1305  he  was  captured  and  carried  in  chains  to  London.  He 
reached  London  on  August  22,  was  tried  at  Westminster  the  next  day, 
and  before  nightfall  had  been  found  guilty  and  executed  with  savage 
cruelty.  Scotchmen  will  never  forget  how  that  bold  son  of  the 
heather-cov-  _^^^**B— ™ •""••••••••^^fc^  ered  country 


1 68 


SCOTLAND 


A  GATE  OF   STIRLING  CASTLE 


answered  his  accusers  who  sought  to  brand  him  as  a  traitor.  Wal- 
lace replied  that  he  could  not  be  a  traitor  to  the  King  of  England, 
for  he  had  never  sworn  fealty  to  him,  and  had  never  been 
his  subject. 

Wallace  did  not  free  Scotland,  but  his  memory  became  an  inspira- 
tion to  the  Scottish  people.  A  decade  after  his  death  they  achieved 
their  independence  under  the  leadership  of  Robert  the  Bruce,  whose 


WITHIN  THE  WALLS 


SCOTLAND 


169 


heart,  as  we  remember,  lies  buried  at  Melrose  Abbey.  On  the  field 
of  Bannockburn,  June  24,  1314,  the  Scots  under  Bruce  defeated  a 
great  force  of  the  English  led  by  King  Edward  II,  and  thereby  won 
Scottish  independence,  although  it  was  not  until  1327  that  Edward  III 


FROM    STIRLING  S   CITADEL 


170 


SCOTLAND 


by  the  Treaty  of  York, 
formally  agreed  that 
"Scotland,  according  to 
its  ancient  bounds  in 
the  days  of  Alexander 
III,  should  remain  to 
Robert,  King  of  Scots, 
and  his  heirs,  free  and 
divided  from  England, 
without  any  subjec- 
tion, servitude,  claim, 
or  demand  whatso- 
ever." 

Thus  was  Scotland's 
long  fight  for  freedom 
won,  and  thus  the 
dream  of  Wallace  be- 
came a  political  real- 

ity.        BUmS  COttfidcd   tO 

his  readers  that  "the  story  of  Wallace  poured  a  Scottish  prejudice 
into  my  veins  which  will  boil  along  them  till  the  floodgates  of  life 
shut  in  eternal  rest,"  and  —  resolved  "to  make  a  song  on  him"  — 
Burns  gave  us  those  rousing  lines  addressed  to  "Scots  wha  ha'e 
wi'  Wallace  bled."  Those  lines  form  a  monument  to  Wallace  even 
more  enduring  than  the  noble  tower  of  stone  that  rises  on  the  hill 
of  Abbey  Craig.  From  the  high  battlements  of  that  National 
Monument  to  Wallace  the  traveler  may  look  out  upon  a  splendid 
and  historic  panorama  which  includes  Stirling  Castle,  Stirling 
Bridge  and  the  scenes  of  several  of  those  momentous  battles  which, 
although  insignificant  in  point  of  numbers  engaged,  were  su- 
premely significant  in  shaping  the  history  of  Scotland. 

While  lingering  amid  these  scenes,  so  rich  in  reminiscent  interest, 
we  chance  upon  a  volume  in  which  we  find  set  down  a  choice  collection 
of  classic  examples  of  Scotch  humor  —  so  delightfully  amusing  that  I 


WILLIAM   WALLACE,  FROM  AN  AUTHENTIC  PORTRAIT 


SCOTLAND 


171 


cannot  refrain  from  "cribbing"  just  a  few  of  them  for  the  delectation 
of  those  who  may  not  have  read  or  heard  them.  Immortal  is  the 
thrifty  Scotsman's  honest  and  sincere  condemnation  of  our  glorious 
Niagara  as  "naething  but  a  perfect  waste  o'  water!"  Calvinistic 
is  the  pious  declaration  made  in  reproving  a  too  optimistic  preacher — 


THE   NATIONAL   MONUMENT  TO    WALLACE 


172 


SCOTLAND 


GEORGE    SQUARE,    GLASGOW 

"a  kirk  without  a  hell's  no  worth  a  dockin."  Deep  is  the  Scot's  dis- 
like of  "paper  ministers"  who  read  their  sermons,  as  witnesseth  the 
following  protest:  "I  have  three  objections  to  this  sermon:  first  — 
it  was  read;  second — it  wasna  weel  read;  third — it  was  no  worth  read- 
ing." Equally  deep  is  the  Scot's  reverence  for  the  abstruse:  "But 
did  you  understand  the  ser- 
mon?"  "Understand  it! 
I  would  not  pre- 
sume to  under- 
stand it!" 

Preachers  must 
be   prepared  for 
blunt   speeches    ' 
from  the  pews. 
To    one    who 
had  advised  a 
drowsy  hear- 
er to  take  a 
pinch  of  snuff, 


THE  WATER 
WAGON 


SCOTLAND 


it 


A    CORPORATION    TRAM 


was  flung  back  the  suggestion  —  "Wad 
no  be  better  to  put  the  snuff 
into  the  sermon?" 

Another  dominie  arriving 
at  the  church  drenched  to 
the  skin  and  worried  about 
catching  cold  was  reassured 
by  a  parishioner —  "Jest  get 
up  and  begin  and  you'll 
soon  be  dry  enough." 

But    despite   these 
classic    jests   the  Scot 
takes    his    religion    very 
.    seriously.      The   municipal 
motto    of   one    of    Scotland's 
greater  cities  is,  "Let  Glasgow  flour- 
ish by  the  preaching  of  the  Word."     Glas- 


A  SUBWAY    STATION 


174 


SCOTLAND 


gow  has  flourished  and  is  to-day  one  of  the  world's  most  interesting 
and  at  the  same  time  most  unattractive  cities. 

It  is  curious  that  the  two  great  cities  of  Scotland  should  be  so 
unlike.  Edinburgh,  with  its  castellated  towers,  is  one  of  the  world's 
beautiful  cities;  Glasgow,  with  its  chimneys  at  every  street-end,  one 


GLASGOW    UNIVERSITY 


SCOTLAND 


KEI.VINCROVE 


of  the  least  beautiful.  Human  nature  is  often  perverse.  A  man  will 
stop  and  stare  ten  minutes  at  a  pretty  woman,  while  ten  worthier 
ladies  pass  unnoticed;  so  the  traveler  who  lingers  for  two  weeks 
contentedly  in  Edinburgh 
will  try  to  "do"  Glasgow 
between  two  trains.  In  as- 
pect Glasgow  is  a  modern 
city,  although  its  history  goes 
back  at  least  to  the  twelfth 
century. 

The  success  of  the  Glasgow 
corporation  in  operating  the 
municipal  street  car  system 
has  furnished  the  text  for 
many  a  reformer's  sermon  on 
municipal  ownership  of  pub- 
lic utilities.  Glasgow  has 
also  accomplished  wonders 
in  the  rehousing  of  her  poor. 


WHERE  LEARNING   DWELLS 


i76 


SCOTLAND 


But  if  Glasgow  fails  to  lure  the  traveler,  Glasgow's  river,  the  Clyde, 
is  worthy  of  the  traveler's  grateful  recognition  as  the  cradle  of  so 
many  of  the  splendid  ships  that  have  made  modern  ocean  travel  so 
pleasant  and  so  speedy.  The  Clyde  is  literally  a  man-made  river. 
The  transformation  of  an  inland  city,  on  a  shallow  creek,  into  one 
of  the  world's  greatest  seaports 

and  ship-       ^^^^^  ^^^^fc-        building 


GLASGOW   BRIDGE 


centers  is  one  of  the  miracles  of  modern  times.  A  hundred  years 
ago  the  river  was  not  three  feet  deep  at  Glasgow.  Now  sea-going 
ships,  drawing  twenty-six  feet  of  water,  go  up  and  down  the  Clyde 
on  a  single  tide.  There  are  about  nine  miles  of  wharves,  and  more 
than  a  hundred  acres  of  docks  and  slips  communicating  with  the 
nver.  The  first  steamboat  that  ever  made  regular  river  trips  in 


SCOTLAND 


177 


ALONG    THE   CLYDE 


Europe  was  Henry  Bell's  "Comet," 
which    trailed    up    and   down 
the   Clyde   from    1812    to 
1820.     The  "  Comet " 
was  a  three-horse-power 
boat. 

From    the  prac- 
tical and    prosaic 
Clyde   'tis  but   a 
short  journey  to  the 
banks  of  a  river  that 
turns  our  thoughts  to 
poetry — the  River  Ayr. 
It  cuts  in  twain  the  town 
of  Ayr  and  is  spanned  by 
the  "Twa  Brigs,"  made  famous 


SCOTLAND 

176 

But  if  Glasgow  fails  to  lure  the  traveler,  Glasgow's  river,  the  Clyde, 
is  worthy  of  the  traveler's  grateful  recognition  as  the  cradle  of  so 
many  of  the  splendid  ships  that  have  made  modern  ocean  travel  so 
pleasant  and  so  speedy.  The  Clyde  is  literally  a  man-made  river. 
The  transformation  of  an  inland  city,  on  a  shallow  creek,  into  one 
of  the  world's  greatest  seaports 

^^^^^^  ^^^^^^          building 

and  shu>- 


GIASGOW   BRIDGE 


centers  is  one  of  the  miracles  of  modern  times.  A  hundred  years 
ago  the  river  was  not  three  feet  deep  at  Glasgow.  Now  sea-going 
ships,  drawing  twenty-six  feet  of  water,  go  up  and  down  the  Clyde 
on  a  single  tide.  There  are  about  nine  miles  of  wharves,  and  more 
than  a  hundred  acres  of  docks  and  slips  communicating  with  the 
river.  The  first  steamboat  that  ever  made  regular  river  trips  in 


SCOTLAND 


177 


ALONG    THE   CLYDE 


Europe  was  Henry  Bell's  "Comet," 
which    trailed    up    and    down 
the   Clyde   from    1812    to 
1820.     The  "  Comet  " 
was  a  three-horse-power 
boat. 

From    the  prac- 
tical and    prosaic 
Clyde   'tis  but   a 
short  journey  to  the 
banks  of  a  river  that 
turns  our  thoughts  to 
poetry — the  River  Ayr. 
It  cuts  in  twain  the  town 
of  Ayr  and  is  spanned  by 
the  "Twa  Brigs,"  made  famous 


i78 


SCOTLAND 


by  the  songs  of  Robert  Burns.      Hard  by  is  the  old  tavern  that  like- 
wise owes  its  fame  to  Scotland's  best  beloved  poet.    It  is  of  course  the 

Tarn  O'Shanter  Inn,  where  Bobbie 
Burns,  who  was  "no  enemy 
to  social  life"  oft  found 
the  kind  of  company 
he  loved.  Judg- 
ing from  the 
merry  sounds 
that  issue  from 
the  open  windows 
as  we  pause  before 
them,  there  is  even  to- 
day much  of  that  same 
cheery  sort  of  company  to  be  en- 
joyed by  any  modern  poet  who 
may  care  to  join  in  a  carouse.  A  statue  of  the  most  famous  fre- 
quenter of  the  tavern  now  graces  the  public  square. 


ONE   OF   THE  TWA    BRIGS   AT  AYR 


THE   AULl)    BK1U 


SCOTLAND 


179 


Pilgrims  come  to  this  heart  of  the  Burns  country  even  more 
numerously  than  to  Stratford-on-Avon.  We  are  told  that  as  many 
as  twelve  thousand  have  come  to  pay  their  homage  to  the  poet's 
memory  within  the  six  days  that  make  up  a  Scotland  week  —  for 


no  good   Scot  will  ever  travel  on 
the  very  holy  Sabbath. 

Two    miles  beyond  the 
town  is  the  poor  cottage 
where   the  plough-boy 
poet  first    saw    light 
and  where  he  lived 
during    his  toilsome 
early  years.   He  was 
born  there  in  1759 — 
son    of   an   admirable 
father   who  in  spite   of 


THE    TOWN    OF    BURNS 


182 


SCOTLAND 


BURNS*    HOME    IN    DUMFRIES    WHERE    HE    DIED 

"Gie  me  a  spark  of  Nature's  fire ! 
That's  a'  the  learning  I  desire. 
Then,  tho'  I  drudge  thro'  dub  an'  mire 
At  plow  or  cart, 

My  muse  —  tho'  hamely  in  attire  — 
May  touch  the  heart!" 

And  yet  this  man  whose  homely,  glorious  muse  did  touch  the  heart 
of  his  own  generation,  was  permitted  to  live  and  die  in  poverty. 
Think  of  the  rewards 
that  come  so  promptly 
to  the  successful  song- 
makers  of  to-day  — 
makers  of  ephemeral 
nonsense.  Then  think 
what  Scotland  paid  the 
maker  of  her  immortal 
songs.  His  first  book 
of  poems  published  in 
1786  brought  him  only 
twenty  pounds  —  less 

"'-- 

ON    BIS    DOORSTEP 


SCOTLAND 


183 


WITHIN    HIS   HOME 


than  a  hundred  dollars.     All  of  his  songs  combined  brought  him  not 

even  enough  to  pay  for  common  comforts  —  but  they  have  made  him 

rich  in  the  love  of  thousands  —  a  millionaire  monopolist  of  Scottish 

hearts  and  all  true  hearts  throughout  the  world.     His  last  years  were 

as  full  of  gloom  and  drudgery  as  his 

early    years   had    been  —  with  the 

added  bitterness  of  the  thought 

that  his   genius,   while  freely 

recognized,    had  been    so 

penuriously    requited. 

He  died  in  debt   and  in 

despair,  threatened  with 

eviction  from  the  house 

in   Dumfries  which  had 

been    his  home     for    the 

five  years  of  final  struggle 

against  that  nemesis  of  pov- 


1 84 


SCOTLAND 


erty     which    pursued    him    from     the     cradle     to    the     grave. 

The  penniless  plough-boy  sleeps  now  in  a  stately  marble  mauso- 
leum —  the  interior  adorned  with  a  relief  showing  the  Muse  discov- 
ering the  poet  at  the  plow.  That  he  was  of  the  soil  was  to  his  vast 
advantage.  It  was  because  Burns  did  touch 
earth  so  frequently,  so  lovingly,  so 
humanly  that  men  respond  so  warmly 
to  the  music  of  his  verse.  Though 
he  lived  and  died  among  the 
common  people,  he  had  mingled 
with  the  great  and  favored  and 
famous  men  and  women  and 
with  the  "nice  people"  of 
his  time  —  studying  them, 
understanding  them  as  they 
never  succeeded  in  understand- 
ing him.  But  if  to  be  loved 
is  to  be  understood  —  then 
Robert  Burns  is  perhaps  the  best 
understood  of  all  the  poets  who 
have  ever  lived. 

Paramount  indeed  is  the  power  of 
poetry.  Think  what  poetry  has  done  for 
certain  parts  of  Scotland — notably  the  district 
of  the  Scottish  Lakes.  Thousands  of  strangers  make  annual  pilgrim- 
ages thither  chiefly  because  Sir  Walter  Scott  there  laid  the  scene  of  his 
familiar  poems,  "Rob  Roy"  and  "The  Lady  of  the  Lake."  As  an 
advertising  agent  for  his  native  land  Scott  deserves  the  gratitude  of 
all  the  transportation  companies  of  Scotland.  Every  verse  he  wrote 
about  this  lovely  region  brings  hither  hundreds  of  tourists  every  year. 
What  reader  of  Scott's  poems  does  not  long  to  visit  Loch  Katrine, 
upon  which  steamers  packed  with  tourists  ply  on  week  days  only,  for 
in  Scotland  it  is  considered  wrong  to  go  "excursionizing"  on  a  Sun- 
day—the Sabbath  being  better  kept  here  than  in  any  other  country? 


ROBERT    BURNS 


SCOTLAND 


185 


THE    MAUSOLEUM 


What  sympathizer  with  the  Lady  of  the  Lake 

has  not  dreamed  of  some  day  seeing  Ellen's  Isle, 

or  strolling  on  the  Silver  Strand  —  which  has 

been  recently  submerged  in  part  through 

the  raising  of  the  level  of  the  lake  by 

the    operations    of  the  Glasgow 

water  supply  company?      What 

admirer  of  the  red-haired  hero, 

Rob,  who  was    called    "Roy" 

because  his  hair  was  as  red  as 

his  arm  was  long  and  strong, 

has    not  hoped   some  day    to 

visit  the  scenes  of  his  romantic 

exploits?    What  reader,  thrilled 

by   the  story   of   that  lawless 

Scottish  cowboy,  has  not  looked 

forward  to  the  day  when  he    should 

meet  upon   their   native   heath    the   long-horned,   highland  cattle 

descended  from  the 
herds  stolen  from  proud 
nobles  by  the  prouder 
bandits  of  Rob  Roy's 
robber  clan?  What  lover 
of  Nature,  in  her  calm 
and  lovely  aspects,  has 
not  dreamed  of  tramping 
through  that  much  praised 
stretch  of  country  called 
the  Trossachs? 

The  name  "Trossachs," 
a  Gaelic  word,  means 
"bristled  country,"  but  to 
us  it  seemed  that  the 
Trossachs  bristled  only 

BBHBBBBBBHfli 
THE   TOMB   OF    BURNS 


1 86 


SCOTLAND 


IN  THE   TROSSACHS 


with  beauty.  It  is  a  name  which  seems  to  suggest  an  extensive 
area,  but  the  Trossachs  is  really  only  a  romantic,  beautifully  wooded 
glen,  a  scant  two  and  a  half  miles  long. 

Then,  too,  we  are  surprised  to  find  that  the  Highland  Lakes  really 
lie  very  low.    Loch  Lomond,  the  largest  of  them  all,  lies  only  twenty- 


LOCH    KATRINE 


SCOTLAND 


187 


three  feet  above  sea-level  and  was  undoubtedly  at  one  time  an  arm  of 
the  ocean.  The  little  mountains  round  about  this  fresh-water  fjord 
rise  so  boldly  that  we  forget  they  are  only  hills  at  best.  Ben  Nevis, 
the  highest  peak  in  Scotland,  in  fact  in  all  Great  Britain,  is  only  forty- 
four  hundred  and  six  feet  in  height.  The  peaks  near  Loch  Lomond 
barely  attain  three  thousand  feet.  But  scenic  grandeur  is  largely  a 


NEAR    ELLEN  -S    ISLE 


matter  of  effective  points  of  view  and  scenic  beauty,  one  of  composi- 
tion. Scotland's  scenery  is  beautifully  composed,  while  with  a  thrift 
and  economy  characteristic  of  the  land  and  people,  Scottish  Nature 
has  made  the  most  of  her  materials.  Poetry  has  added  the  glamour 
of  Romance,  and  a  willing  world  pays  annual  tourist  tribute  of  golden 
admiration  to  the  Trossachs  and  the  Lakes. 

But  to  us  a  comparatively  unknown  lake  bearing  the  not  too  pretty 


1 88 


SCOTLAND 


name  of  Loch  Lubnaig  seemed,  as  we  skirted  itatsunset,  far  more  lovely 
than  the  world  famous  Loch  Katrine.  There  was  a  charm  also  about 
the  vistas  of  Loch  Awe  that  greeted  us  from  one  fine  vantage  point  that 
the  more  celebrated  vistas  of  Loch  Lomond  did  not  have  for  us.  Per- 
haps the  charm  lies  in  the  fact  that  as  we  viewed  these  less  familiar, 


LOCH    LUBNAIG 


less  praised  scenes,  we  were  alone;  no  crowds  of  tourists  thronged  the 
shore;  there  were  no  "sights"  to  see,  no  points  or  peaks  or  places 
tagged  and  labeled  to  excite  or  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  strangers. 
There  Nature  reigned;  the  poets  had  not  focused  public  gaze  on  any 
one  detail.  There  we  were  free  to  drop  the  guide  book  and  to  lay  the 
book  of  poetry  aside.  We  had  need  of  no  libretto  to  enjoy  that 
"opera"  •-  that  work  of  Nature.  We  had  found  at  last  the  Scotland 
of  the  poet's  inspiration.  We  had  slipped  out  from  between  the 


SCOTLAND 


189 


covers  of  conventionality.     We  were  free  to  use  our  own  judgment, 
to  sing  our  own  songs,  to  write  our  own  poetry. 

We  found  it  pleasant,  too,  as  we  rolled  on  from  scene  to  scene  to 
rest  our  eyes  upon  some  nameless  heather-covered  hill  where  "the 
bonnie  purple  heather"  glowed  in  all  its  colorful  glory.  Nor  were  the 


THE    PEACEFUL    GLORY    OF    SCOTLAND 


grimmer,  ruder  aspects  of  the  landscape  unpleasing  in  our  eyes.  We 
found  a  savage  beauty,  a  wild  grandeur,  in  the  bare  winding  vales 
through  which  our  white  road  led  us.  For  an  hour  we  would  enjoy  a 
sense  of  lone  remoteness  —  then  suddenly  our  car  would  bring  us  to 
the  doorway  of  a  charming  inn  with  ivy-mantled  walls,  or  doors  and 
windows  bright  with  flowers.  There  we  would  lodge  in  cleanliness 
and  comfort,  enjoying  simple,  wholesome  fare,  and  on  the  morrow  roll 
away  with  one  more  Scottish  stopping-place  pictured  pleasantly  in 


I00  SCOTLAND 

memory.  Or  again  our  road  would  follow  one  of  the  man-made  water- 
ways, bordered  by  cozy  cottages  from  the  chimneys  of  which  the 
smoke  of  peace  and  piety  and  contentment  seemed  ever  to  be  rising. 
We  followed  thus  the  various  stretches  of  the  Crinan  Canal,  one 
of  the  minor  watery  short-cuts  by  means  of  which  Scotch  craft 


THE  BONNIE  PURPLE  HEATHER 


avoid  the  long  rough   voyage  around   the  ofttime    storm  stressed 

peninsulas    that    jut 
far    out    into    the 
troubled    waters 
of    this    northern 
latitude. 

One  day  our 
wa  nderings 
brought  us  to  the 


HIGHLAND    CATTLE 


SCOTLAND 


191 


town  of  Perth,  which  the  guide  book  calls  "a  fair  city  for  its  size," 
whatever  that  may  mean,  and  says  that  it  is  a  "convenient  halting 
place."  Perth  lies  on  the  right  bank  of  the  river  Tay,  between  two 
great  meadows,  called  the  North  Inch  and  the  South  Inch.  It  was 


THE    STERNNESS   OF    SCOTTISH    SCENERY 


on  the  North  Inch,  in  1396,  that  there  took  place  the  combat  be- 
tween the  Clan  Chattan  and  the  Clan  Quhele,  so  vividly  described 
by  Scott  in  "The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth."  The  house  of  Katherine 
Glover,  who  has  been  immortalized  as  the  Fair  Maid,  still  stands 
in  Curfew  Row.  The  inscription  "Grace  and  Peace"  over  the  door- 
way seems  strangely  inviting,  but  strangely  in  contrast  to  the  storm 
and  stress  of  Scott's  tale.  Full  of  action  and  strife,  the  story  makes 
a  fine  setting  for  the  character  of  the  doughty  armorer,  Harry  Gow, 
who  finally  won  the  maiden,  and  let  us  hope,  lived  happy  ever  after 
in  the  sunny  stone  dwelling  that  is  still  known  as  the  Fair  Maid's 


SCOTLAND 


AT  CRIANLARICl 


House  —  and  as  the  sign  at  the  door  in 
forms  us,  is  "open  to  visitors." 

Perth  is  an  ancient  place  though 
there   is    little  left  to  tell   of  its 
antiquity.    During  the  days  of 
the  Roman  occupation  of  Brit- 
ain the  city  was  called  Victoria, 
but  later  it  became  known  as 
Aber-tha,   meaning   "  at    the 
mouth   of   the  Tay."    From 
this    was   derived   the   later 
name  of  Bertha,  which  in  our 
day  has  become  Perth.      After 
the  conversion  of  the  Picts  and 
Scots  to  Christianity,  the  city 
was  for  a  time  called  St.  Johns- 
toun,  in  honor  of  John  the  Baptist, 
to  whom  the  first  church  was  dedi- 


SCOTLAND 


CANAL-SIDE    HOMES 


cated.    Perth  has  been  numbered  among  the  several  old-time  capitals 
of  Scotland,  but  the  murder  of  King  James  I  in  the  Blackfriars 
Monastery  in  1437  resulted  in  removal  of  the  court  to  Edinburgh. 
No  traveler  should  fail  to  climb  to  the  high  top  of  Kinnoull  Hill, 


AT  THE   MOUTH   OF 


i  SCOTLAND 

thence  to  enjoy  the  lovely  view  of  the  winding  Tay.  The  city  itself 
is  lost  to  sight;  no  neighboring  towns  or  villages  obtrude  upon  the 
scene-  the  valley  looks  unpeopled,  yet  there  are  the  carefully  hedged 
fields '  the  curving  roads  and  other  reminders  of  man's  watchful  care. 
Not  far  from  Perth  we  saw  the  highest  hedge  in  Scotland  —  if  not 
in  all  the  world.  It  was  a  hedge  composed  of  a  long  rank  of  towering 


trees,  their  foliage  so  clipped  and  shaped  —  at  least  on  the  side  near- 
est the  long  straight  road,  as  to  give  the  effect  of  a  box-hedge  not  less 
than  sixty  feet  in  height. 

Some  miles  north  of  Perth,  in  the  range  of  rocky  hills  called  the 
Grampian  Mountains,  are  two  places  of  interest  to  every  traveler. 
One  of  these  was  made  famous  by  royalty,  the  other  by  a  master  of 
literature.  Balmoral  —  the  word  in  Gaelic  means  "majestic  dwell- 
ing" —  is  the  private  residence  of  the  British  sovereign.  A  Scottish 
guide  book  describes  it  as  "a  handsome,  well-to-do-looking  mansion." 


SCOTLAND 


It  was  bought  by  the  Prince  Consort  in  1852,  and  was  bequeathed  by 
him  to  Queen  Victoria.  Here  the  royal  family  spent  ten  happy  sum- 
mers with  practically  the  privacy 
of  ordinary  citizens,  and  even 
after  the  Prince  Consort's 
death  in  1861  it  re- 
mained the  Queen's 
favorite  summer 
home. 

Balmoral    i  s 
only  a   short   dis- 
tance   from  Brae- 
mar,  the  most  popu- 
lar  resort  in  the 
Eastern    Highlands    and 
famous     as     the    gathering 
place  of  the  clans  for  the  great 
annual  Highland  Games.     The  scenery 
here  is  not  as  grand  as  in  other  parts  of  the  Highlands,  but  it  is  always 


THE    ROYAL    GEORGE 


BRIDGE    AT    PERTH 


SCOTLAND 


THE  HOUSE   OF  THE    FAIR 


ID    OF    PERTH 


interesting,  and  the  bracing  air  makes  the  visitor  eager  and  able  to  en- 
joy every  minute  of  his  stay.  The  town  itself  is  small,  having  only 
about  a  thousand  inhabitants,  but  there  is  at  least  one  house  in  it 
which  no  boy  or  grown  man,  for  that  matter,  can  pass  without  a 
thrill.  For  in  one  of  these  cottages  Stevenson  spent  the  summer  of 
1881  in  writing  "Treasure  Island."  Long  John  Silver,  and  Pew  and 
Black  Dog,  his  companions,  are  an  immortal  trio  whose  villainy  is  in 
sharp  contrast  to  the  charming  peacefulness  of  this  region  in  which 
their  dark  deeds  were  plotted  by  "R.  L..  S." 

We  have  it  on  the  authority  of  a  friend  who  sojourned  in  this  high- 
land home  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  in  1881,  that  "Louis  has  been 
writing  all  the  time  that  I  have  been  here,  a  novel  of  pirates  and  hid- 
den treasure,  in  the  highest  degree  exciting.  He  reads  it  to  us  every 
night,  chapter  by  chapter."  Stevenson  himself  has  told  us  that  "On 
a  chill  September  morning  by  the  cheek  of  a  brisk  fire,  and  the  rain 
drumming  on  the  window,  I  began  'The  Sea  Cook,'  for  that  was 


SCOTLAND 


197 


A    FAIR   MAID  OF  TO-DAV 


the  original  title."  He  tells  us  also  that  he  plotted  the  tale  first  with 
the  inspiration  of  that  famous  chart  on  which  the  story  turns;  charts 
being  to  him  "of  all  books  the  least  wearisome  to  read  and  the  richest 
in  matter."  The  tale  was  begun,  according  to  Stevenson's  biog- 
raphers, to  please  his  school-boy  stepson  who  had  begged  him  to 

write    "something    interesting."      How 
well  that  little  stepson  served  the 
little  sons  and  stepsons  and 
W    grandsons  of  succeeding  gen- 
erations!    The  tale  that 
pleased  him  has  been  found 
to  be   "something  interest- 
ing" to  every  boy — from  six 
years  of  age  to  sixty  —  who  has 
ever  been  so  happy  as 
--.»,.,  to  lose  himself  be- 

tween the  covers  of 
"Treasure  Island." 


A    DOORWAY 
OF  ROMANCE 


8  SCOTLAND 

Nineteen  of  its  thrilling  chapters  were  written  in  that  little  stone 
house  at  Braemar  —  sometimes  at  the  rate  of  an  entire  chapter  a  day. 
Yet  the  writer  was  an  invalid.  How  strong  the  will,  how  quick  the 
wit  of  that  frail  boyish  man,  who,  propped  up  in  his  bed,  turned  out 
these  chapters  of  adventure  among  the  far-off  islands  of  his  mar- 
velous imagination.  Barrie  said  of  him— and  this  from  a  fellow-Scot 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  TAY  NRAR  PERTH 


and  fellow-teller  of  tales,  is  praise  indeed— "Some  men  of  letters,  not 
necessarily  the  greatest,  have  an  indescribable  charm  to  which  we 
give  our  hearts.  Of  living  authors,  none  perhaps  bewitches  the  reader 
more  than  Mr.  Stevenson,  who  plays  upon  words  as  if  they  were  a 
musical  instrument."  Tis  said  that  in  his  "Sentimental  Tommy" 
Barrie  pictured  R.  L.  S.  as  he  appeared  to  him.  To  those  of  us  who 
are  idlers  by  nature — and  I  am  an  idler  by  nature,  though  compelled 
by  circumstance  to  idle  most  industriously — Stevenson  has  endeared 
himself  by  writing  "A  Defense  of  Idlers."  He  has  also  given  us  away 


SCOTLAND 


199 


of 


of  all 


— explaining  the  motive 
dustry   and   robbing  us 
credit  for  the  little  good  work 
we  may  seem  to  have  done 
in  these  betraying  words 
— "The  ingenious  hu- 
man   mind,     face    to 
face  with   something 
downright  it  ought  to 
do,    does  something 
else."     We  recall  also 
his  brave,  pathetic   la- 
ment— "Death  admires  me 


our  in- 


even  if  publishers 
do  not";  and  his 
fine  boast — "I 
know  what  pleas- 
ure is,  for  I  have 
done  good  work." 
In  this  do  we  not 
find  the  recipe  for 
happiness? 

His  life  had  in 
it  all  the  elements 
of  sadness  —  but 
Robert  Louis 
Stevenson  was 

happy. 
"Glad  did  I  live 
And  gladly  die 
And  I  lay  me 
down  with  a  will." 


THE    HIGHEST 
OF    HEDGES 


2OO 


SCOTLAND 

Everywhere  in  Scotland  the  American  visitor  who  is 
accustomed  to  the  predominance  of  wooden  buildings  in 
urban  communities  at  home,  cannot  fail  to  be  impressed 
with  the  stony  aspect  of  the  towns  and  cities.  Aberdeen 
is  the  stoniest  looking  city  of  them  all;  it  is  well  called 
the  "Granite  City." 

Aberdonians  are  justly  proud   of    Union    Street.     It  is 


WHERE    STEVENSON   WROTE  "TREASURE 
ISLAND,"    AT   BRAEMAR 

literally  a  granite  avenue.    So  utterly 
unrelieved  is  this  mile-length  of  grey 
granite  that  it  sometimes  appears 
cold  and  uninviting,  but  when  the 
sun  bursts  forth  after  a  heavy  rain 
Aberdeen  becomes  indeed  "the  silver 
city  by  the  sea"  as  its  stones  glisten 
in  the  brilliant  sunlight. 

The   most   striking   buildings    are 
those  of  Marischal  College,  which  since 


YOUNO    SCOT 


SCOTLAND 


201 


1860,  together  with  King's  College  a  mile  away,  has  formed  the 
University  of  Aberdeen.  The  courses  in  law,  medicine,  and  science 
are  given  at  Marischal;  arts  and  divinity  at  King's. 

Additions  to  the  buildings  have  been  made  at  various  times 
through  the  generosity  of  individuals,  notably  the  severe  but  beauti- 
ful Mitchell  Tower,  completed  in  1895,  and  the  extensive  and  still 
fresh  looking  granite  halls  and  courts  opened  by  King  Edward  VII 
in  1906.  Marischal  College  is  now  the  largest  granite  structure  in 
the  world,  and  the  Mitchell  Tower,  250  feet,  is  the  loftiest.  The  col- 
lege was  founded  in  1593  by  George  Keith,  fifth  Earl  Marischal,  one 
of  the  most  cultured  Scotchmen  of  his  day. 

It  was  in  an  old  grammar  school  of  Aberdeen  that  the  foundations 
of  Lord  Byron's  education  were  laid.  The  poet  was  then  just  a  little 
lame  boy,  living  in  modest  lodgings  and  grinding  hard  at  the  tasks 
set  him  by  stern  Scottish  school-masters.  From  1794  to  1798  he 
limped  the  granite  streets  of  Aberdeen  from  the  bridge  over 
the  Dee  to  the  Bridge 
over  the  Don. 


THE    HOTEL    AT    BKAEMAR 


202 


SCOTLAND 


There    are   in- 

numerable 
churches     in    this 
solemn    city    and 
on  a  Sunday  it  is 
edifying    to    ob- 
serve the  popula- 
t  i  on    moving 
seemingly  en  masse 
to    these    many 
places  of  worship. 
Church-going 
might   almost    be 
said  to  be  one  of 
the  leading  indus- 
tries of  Aberdeen. 
It  is  inspiring  to 
see  the  kilted  reg- 


THE    POST   OFFICE 


IN   THE   GRANITE    STREETS   OF    ABERDEEI> 


SCOTLAND 


203 


EET    IN    ABERDEEN 


iments  marching  churchward  from  their  barracks  to  the  thrilling 
music  of  the  pipes.  Piping  the  garrison  to  church  is  the  only  enter- 
taining spectacle  to  be  witnessed  on  a  Sabbath  in  this  intensely  religi- 
ous and  seventh-day-observing  city. 

Naturally  all  theaters  and  other  places  of  amusement  are  closed; 
all  manner  of  work  is  of  course  prohibited.  No  one  is  supposed  to  do 
on  Sunday  the  things  that  can  be  put  off  until  a  week-day  morrow. 

Many  a  pious  passer-by  looked  askance  at  the  camera  which  I 
had  ventured  to  bring  into  the 
streets — and,  when  unable 
to  resist  the  tempta- 
tion I  leveled  it  at 
the  passing   pip- 
ers,  one  solemn 
deacon- like  per- 
sonage  halted, 
looked  me  square- 
ly in  the  eye  and 


DOMESTIC    GRANITE 


2O4 


SCOTLAND 


sternly  said,  "Are  ye  not  ashamed  to 
be  making  photographs  on  this, 
the  Sabbath  day?" 

I  fear  I  was  not  even 
ashamed   of  not  being 
ashamed  —  but    I  ac- 
cepted his  reproof  in 
the  sincere  spirit   in 
which  it  was  offered 
— and  waited  until  he 
was  safely  in  his  pew 
before  committing  any 
further   photographic 
impieties. 
Of  course  no  traveler 
leaves  Aberdeen  without  having 
witnessed  the  amazing  activities  of  the 
great  fish  market  where  vast  quantities  of 
sea-food  —  brought   in    daily  —  except    Sunday  —  by   the    famous 


TART  OF  THE    UNIVERSITY   OF   ABERDEEN 


SCOTLAND 


205 


steam  trawler  fleet  —  are  disposed  of  to  the  highest  bidder.  Were  it 
not  for  the  frequent  fish-train-specials  that  are  rushed  off  to  all  parts 
of  the  kingdom,  Aberdeen  would  be  overwhelmed  by  that  never-ceas- 
ing invasion  of  fresh  fish  from  the  teeming  waters  of  the  North  Sea. 


THE   MITCHELL   TOWER 


Day  after  day,  hundreds  of  tons  of  the  wealth  of  the  seas  is  sold 
and  resold  here.  The  enormous  lots  of  various  kinds  of  fish  are  sold 
at  auction  —  the  auctioneer  and  buyers  moving  along  in  a  noisy, 
eager  mass  of  calmly  excited  humanity  from  one  silver-paved  section 
of  the  pier  to  another  section  where  deep-sea  denizens  of  other  tints 
are  spread  out  like  a  myriad  sacrifice  to  the  appetite  of  the  Empire. 
During  the  war  the  Aberdeen  trawlers  did  heroic  service  as  mine 
sweepers  and  patrols  in  the  North  Sea. 

For  me,  however,  another  city,  Inverness,  possessed  more  charm 


206 


SCOTLAND 


AN    ABERDEEN    FISH    AUCTION 


than  any  other  Sottish  town  save  only  Edinburgh.  It  has  a  color- 
ful, quaint  charm  that  reminded  me  of  Pisa  and  of  Florence.  There 
was  a  grateful,  pleasing  something  about  the  place  that  made  us  think 
of  those  river-side  art-cities  of  old  Italy. 


CHURCHWARDS 


SCOTLAND 


207 


Yet  Inverness  is  Scottish  to  the  core.  The  castle  on  the  heights, 
the  spires  of  the  churches,  the  clouds  in  the  high  sky,  all  these  are 
eloquent  of  Scotland  —  of  her  history,  her  romance,  her  religion,  her 


THE    HEROIC   TRAWLERS   OF   ABERDEEN 


hardy   people,   and   her   rigorous 
climate,   which    has  helped 
to  make  the  people  what 
they  are. 

The   most    com- 
manding monument 
of  Inverness  is  that 
of  the  Jacobite  hero- 
ine, Flora  Macdonald, 
who  from  the  castle  hill 
looks  down  upon  the  city. 


PIPING   THE    MEN   TO   CHURCH 


208 


SCOTLAND 


WHERE    STOOD   IN    OLDEN  DAYS  THE   CASTLE    OF  MACBETH 

She  was  a  daughter  of  the  Macdonalds  of  the  Hebrides.  When  Bonnie 
Prince  Charlie  fled  thither  after  the  battle  of  Culloden,  she  assumed 
the  perilous  task  of  assuring  his  safety  and  effecting  his  escape.  It 
was  disguised  as  Betty  Burke,  the  Irish  spinning  maid  of  the  heroic 

Flora,  that  Prince  Charles  Edward,  pre- 
tender to  the  throne,  finally  evaded 
his  pursuers.    Flora  suffered  im- 


FLORA    MACDONALD 


SCOTLAND 


209 


prisonment  in  the  Tower  of  London,  but  was  freed  by  the  Act  of  In- 
demnity in  1747.  Later  she  married  a  Macdonald  and  emigrated  to 
America,  but  returned  to  die  in  Scotland,  leaving  many  sturdy  sons 
to  perpetuate  the  grand  old  Macdonald  name. 


INVERNESS    ON  THE   RIVER   NESS 


Inverness  on  the  River  Ness,  is  the  northern  terminal  port  of  the 
Caledonian  Canal,  that  artificial  river  —  or  better,  that  chain  of  ca- 
nalized lakes — which  runs  through  the  Great  Glen  of  Scotland  from 
northeast  to  southwest,  from  the  North  Sea  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
It  is  sixty  miles  in  length,  and  saves  a  four-hundred-mile  voyage  around 
the  stormy  north  end  of  Britain.  It  is  two-thirds  a  natural  water- 
way, only  one-third  an  artificial  channel.  Three  long,  narrow  lakes 
lying  almost  end  to  end,  have  been  connected  by  twenty-two  miles 
of  man-made  channels.  Loch  Oich,  the  middle  lake  of  the  three, 
is  only  100  feet  above  the  Atlantic  sea-level.  There  are  in  all  twenty- 
eight  locks  with  an  average  lift  of  eight  feet  each.  The  finest  series 


210 


SCOTLAND 


THE    LOCKS  OF    FORT   AUGUSTUS 


burial  among  the  great  in  Westminster  Abbey. 


of  them  being  at  Fort  Augustus 
where   the   canal    touches 
Loch   Ness.     The  de- 
signer of  the  Caledo- 
nian  Canal    was 
Thomas  Telford, 
who  also  planned 
the  famous  Gota 
Canal  in  Sweden. 
To  this  son  of  a 
Scottish   shep- 
herd, Scotland  owes 
most   of    her   finest 
highland  highways  and 
her   most    important 
waterway.     So  highly  was 
the  work   of    his  lifetime  re- 
garded by  the  nation  that  at  his 
death,  in  1834,  his  body  was  given 


ON  THE    CALEDONIAN   CANAL 


SCOTLAND 


211 


Our  interesting  cross-country  trip  by  water  brings  us  to  the  pretty 
town  of  Oban,  a  great  touristic  center  which  has  been  called  the  "Char- 
ing Cross  of  the  Highlands,"  because  it  is  a  place  of  so  many  hurried 
goings  and  comings  of  eager  folk  who  are  bound  otherwhere.  Among 
the  "otherwheres"  to  which  we  must  not  fail  to  go  are  the  islands  of 
lona  and  of  Staffa,  reached  like  so  many  other  interesting  other- 
wheres, by  .-- ^••^••••••"••••^fc.  swift,  con- 


OBAN   THE  CHARING  CROSS  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS 


venient    little    tourist     steamers    that    begin    their    daily   run    at 
Oban's  busy  piers. 

The  Sacred  Island  of  lona  was  the  cradle  of  Scottish  Christianity. 
The  story  of  lona  is  the  story  of  Christianity  in  this  far  corner  of  the 
world.  The  restored  Cathedral  marks  the  scene  of  the  early  labors 
of  St.  Columba,  who  might  be  called  the  St.  Patrick  of  the  Scots. 
With  equal  justice  St.  Patrick  might  be  called  the  St.  Columba  of  the 
Irish.  Strange  to  say,  St.  Patrick,  who  carried  Christianity  to  Ire- 


212 


SCOTLAND 


land,  was  a  Scotsman  and  St.  Columba,  who 
began  the  Christianizing  of  Scotland  at  lona  in 
the  year  563  A.  D.,  was  an  Irishman.  One  good 
Saint  deserves  another!  For 
centuries  this  bleak  and  bar- 
ren island  was  the  strong- 
hold of  the  faith,  the 


THE   CRADLE   OF    SCOTTISH 
CHRISTIANITY 


SCOTLAND 


213 


center  of  the  new  civilization  of  the  Celtic  world.  Before  the 
Reformation  three  hundred  and  sixty  great  Celtic  crosses  looked 
out  from  lona's  holy  shores.  Only  two  of  them  remain  erect 
to-day.  So  holy  was  the  place  in  the  early  centuries  that  the 
bodies  of  dead  kings  and  chieftains  were  sent  here  for  burial  in  the 
sacred  soil.  Even  to-day  there  are  to  be  seen  the  tombstones  of 
four  dozen  Scottish  Kings  —  including  murderous  Macbeth  him- 


RS    OF    THE    ISLAND    OF    STAFFA 


self,  four  Irish  monarchs,  and  eight  mighty  Scandinavian   Viking 
chiefs. 

Not  far  far  from  lona  lies  the  amazing  island  of  Staff  a.  The 
name  is  from  the  Scandinavian  and  signifies  staff  or  pillar  in 
allusion  to  the  pillar-  or  column-like  structure  of  the  basaltic  rocks. 
All  this  curious  formation  came  forth  as  molten  lava  once  upon  a 
time,  and  in  the  sudden  cooling  of  that  lava,  as  it  touched  the  sea, 


214 


SCOTLAND 


FINGAL  S   CAVE 


the  solidifying  mass  was  cracked  and  riven  accurately  in  geometric 
patterns,  as  we  see  it  now. 

But  the  great  wonder  of  this  wonder  island  is  the  amazing  cavern 
known  as  Fingal's  Cave.  The  Celtic  name,  Uamh  Binn,  means  "Cave 
of  Music,"  and  the  wondrous  music  is  furnished  by  the  rolling  deep. 
Anthems  of  peace  are  softly  sung  by  the  calm  surges  of  the  summer 
sea;  wild  war-chants  are  bellowed  by  the  raging  waves  of  winter 


SCOTLAND 


Grimness,    re- 
moteness, bleakness, 
have  no  terrors  for  a 
true  Scotsman.   Scenes 
of  bleak  loneliness   that 
depress  the  ordinary  man 


LIKE  THE  PAVEMENT  OF 
THE  GIANTS'  CAUSEWAY 


2l6 


SCOTLAND 


IN    CROFTER-LAND 


seem  to  give  grim  joy  to  the  Scot.  He  loves  to  see  Dame  Nature  in 
her  frugal  moods,  and  nowhere  isshemore  magnificently,  grimly  frugal 
than  in  the  Scottish  island  known  as  "the  Misty  Isle  of  Skye."  Skye 
is  not  on  the  beaten  track  of  travelers,  and  that  is  why  we  go  to  Skye. 
We  go  by  motor  through  a  series  of  lonely  mainland  valleys  to 
a  lonely  mainland  port  from  which  we  and  the  car  may  cross  to  Skye, 
passing  a  narrow  strait  by  ferry. 

Near  the  ferry  (where  we  were  held  over  for  a  long  and  sunny  Sab- 
bath by  the  strict  Scotch  ruling  that  no  man  may  indulge  in  touring 
on  the  seventh  day)  we  saw  a  never-to-be-forgotten  church.  Never 
in  all  my  years  of  travel  have  I  beheld  a  grimmer,  more  repellent 
looking  place  of  worship.  It  seemed  to  manifest  in  its  grey,  hard 
angularity  the  spirit  of  John  Knox  himself.  It  seemed  to  preach 
that  grace  and  beauty  are  instinct  with  sinfulness,that  virtue  must  be 
grim,  cold,  and  ugly,  that  the  good  and  the  true  can  have  no  converse 
with  the  beautiful  on  pain  of  ceasing  to  be  good  and  true.  And  so 
we  turned  away  and  spent  our  quiet  Sunday  in  pagan  enjoyment  of 
the  lovely  vistas  that  a  kindly,  unregenerate  Nature  had  spread  aW 


SCOTLAND 


217 


round  about  that  wilfully  repellent  temple  of  a  stern  old  faith.  On 
the  morrow  we  found  ourselves  at  last  upon  the  shores  of  Skye,  the 
largest  island  of  the  Inner  Hebrides.  In  Skye  one  is  almost  never 
out  of  sight  of  the  surrounding  sea.  So  deeply  indented  are  the 
shores  that  no  point  in  all  of  the  large  island  is  more  than  five  miles 
from  tide  water.  Thus  inland  hamlets  lie,  at  one  and  the  same  time 
amid  the  inland  mountains  and  beside  some  long  and  narrow  loch 
whose  salty  waters  ebb  and  flow,  responsive  to  the  dictates  of  the 
distant  ocean. 

In  Skye  we  saw  for  the  first  time  a  crofter's  cottage.  A  croft  is 
defined  as  "a  small  enclosed  field,  or  a  piece  of  high  and  dry  land,  not 
big  enough  to  be  called  a  farm,  or  to  support  a  family."  A  crofter  is  a 
man  who  works  a  croft,  and  pays  a  small  rent  for  the  privilege  of  re- 
maining always  poor;  in  other  words,  a  crofter  is  a  man  who  is  up 
against  a  croft;  and  crofting  is  apparently  a  hopeless  proposition. 


THE    GRIM    OLD      KIRK 


2l8 


SCOTLAND 


The  poverty  of  the  Scotch  crofters  is  proverbial.  For  generations 
they  have  dwelt  in  comfortless  lairs  with  little  hope  of  ever  improving 
their  condition.  Royal  Commissions  have  investigated  the  crofters 
and  their  complaints,  and  as  a  result  of  the  Crofter's  Act,  things  now 
look  a  little  brighter  for  the  hardy,  patient  people  of  the  Isle  of  Skye. 
We  saw  a  number  of  new,  decent  homes;  we  saw  a  few  crofter  cot- 
tages that  had  developed  into  real  farm  houses.  But  even  in  the 
humblest,  poorest  hovels  we  found  the  people  clean,  healthy,  and 

intelligent.  We  marvel  at  the 

incongruity        ^^^'  ~~"~"~-\^  between 


THE    ISLE    OF   SKYE 


the   self-respecting    manner  and   speech  of   the   crofters   and  the 
wretchedness  of  their  habitations.    All  had  a  certain,  quiet,  superior 
dignity  that  inspired  our  respect.    There  was  no  sign  of  beggary 
nothing  obsequious.      Nor  was  there  any  sign    of  insolence  or  of 


SCOTLAND 


219 


WITH    A    LOAD   OF    PEAT 


envious  hostility  to  the  traveler  who  flaunted  his  prosperity  by 
motor  along  these  highways  of  the  poor,  on  his  way  from  one  com- 
fortable tourist  hotel  to  another. 

Skye  seems  to  us  the  most  "out-of-doors"  country  we  have  ever 


CROFTERS      COTTAGES 


220 


SCOTLAND 


HOME   OF  THE   CONTENTED  CROFTER   OF  YESTERDAY 


SCOTLAND  221 

seen.  It  has  the  widest  kind  of  out-of-doors.  There  is  something 
splendidly  primeval  about  the  landscapes,  with  ancient  looking  cattle 
in  the  foreground  and  ancient  looking  mountains  bounding  every 
scene.  As  for  the  famous  terriers,  let  me  reassure  all  those  who  love 
Skye  terriers  that  they  are  still  to  be  found  literally  upon  their 
native  heath. 

For  those  who  love  rock-climbing,  the  bleak  bare  mountains  of 


SKYE   TERRIERS 


Skye  afford  rare  opportunities.  We  spent  one  rough  day  toiling  over 
and  through  Glen  Sligachan  on  foot  and  up  the  cruel  rocky  trail  that 
leads  through  the  chaotic  highlands  to  several  famous  points  of  view. 
Footsore  and  weary  we  looked  up  at  Scuir-Na-Gillean's  savage  crests, 
and  breathless  and  dizzy,  we  looked  down  into  the  valley  where  the 
lonely  Lake  of  Coruisk  sleeps  its  savage  sleep.  Because  of  the  mists 
we  saw  but  little  —  but  enough  to  make  us  credit  the  statements  of 
enthusiastic  Alpinists  that  the  wild  Cuchullin  Hills  ("Cuchullin"  is 


222 


SCOTLAND 


the  way  they  write  the  name,  "Coolin"  is  the  way  they  speak  it) 
afford  some  of  the  riskiest  and  most  thrilling  rock-climbs  in 
the  world  —  to  be  attempted  only  by  experienced  mountaineers. 


PORTREE,  METROPOLIS  OF    SKYE 


Skye    is    no    summer    resort 
for    those    who  love     the 
softnesses  and  luxuries  of 
travel.       But    for    the 
sturdy   seeker    after 
strenuous  adventure, 
with   wholesome 
fatigue  giving  savor 
to    hard    fare,    the 
misty  isle  is   one  of 
the  rare  refuges  from 
the  banalities  of  travel. 
But    to    the    thoughtful 


IN    PORTREE 


SCOTLAND 


223 


traveler  Scotland  as  a  whole  is  one  of  the  most  worth  while 
countries  in  the  world.  It  has  remained,  in  spite  of  ever-closer 
contact  with  nations  less  conservative,  unalterably  and  absolutely 


Scotch  in  speech  and 
manner,  customs  and 
ideals.  It  is  a  land 
with  a  flavor  all  its 
own  —  a  flavor  as  un- 
like that  of  other 
lands  as  the  music  of 
the  Scottish  pipe  is 
unlike  any  other  music 
made  by  man.  And 
best  of  all  the  heroic 
spirit  of  Old  Scotland 
that  found  expres- 


A    SKYfe    SF.J^IKY 


224 


SCOTLAND 


sion  in  the  lives  of  Wallace  and  of  Bruce  —  has  lost  none  of  its  victory- 
compelling  power  with  the  passing  of  the  centuries.  The  battlefields 
of  France  and  Flanders  bear  witness  to  the  martial  prowess  of  the 
modern  sons  of  an  old  fighting  race.  It  was  a  Scot  who  led  the  armies 
of  Great  Britain  to  the  greatest  of  all  victories  in  the  greatest  of  all 
wars. 


IRELAND 


I 


RELAND 

RELAND  is  rich  —  rich  in  many  things  that 
richer  nations  lack.  Ireland  is  rich  in  beauty, 
rich  in  pride  of  race,  in  devotion  to  religion,  and  in  a  fearless  hope- 
fulness that  the  worst  misfortunes  cannot  kill. 

To  one  who  does  not  know  the  beautiful  green  island  whence  have 
come  our  many  Irish  fellow-citizens,  their  love  and  admiration  for 
their  native  isle  may  appear  strange.  Why  should  they  love  a  coun- 
try where  their  fathers  suffered?  What  affection  do  they  owe  to  poor 
old  Ireland,  always  pictured  to  us  as  a  distressful  country,  as  a  land 
of  poverty  and  woe?  Yet  go  to  Ireland  —  look  upon  her  beauty, 
realize  her  wealth  of  possibilities,  feel  the  cheering  warmth  of  Irish 
welcome,  treat  your  eyes  to  Irish  smiles,  your  ears  to  Irish  wit;  let 
the  simple  sincerity  of  Irish  life  reveal  to  you  the  unsuspected  depths 


228 


IRELAND 


LEAVING   HOLYHEAD 


of  Irish  character  and  you  will  understand 

why  Irishmen  love  Ireland,  and  you,  too,  will 

often  turn   with  loving  and    regretful  glances 

toward  the  beautiful,  unhappy  island  that  lies  so  near  to  England  — 

and  yet  so  far  away — if  distance  is  measured  by  mutual  understanding. 

In  Ireland  the  traveler  will  find  all  the  elements  for  a  picture-story 
altogether  picturesque  and  pleasing  to  the  eye  —  as  Ireland  herself 
is  pleasing  to  the  eye  of  anyone  who 
looks  upon  her  with  a  just 
preciation  of  her  fortunes 
and  misfortunes,  her  not- 
forgotten  sufferings, 
her  honest  aspirations, 
and  her  unnumbered 
and  enduring  charms. 

Getting  to  Ireland  is 
in  ordinary  times  a  simple 
matter.    Nine  hours  of 


ap- 


NEARINC    IRELAND 


IRELAND 


229 


travel  bring  us  from  the  British  to  the  Irish  Capital  with  celerity 
and  comfort.  A  fast  train  carries  us  to  Holyhead.  a  port  near 
the  northwestern  corner  of  the  little  land  that  Welshmen  call  their 
own,  and  thence  a  rapid  channel  steamer  carries  us  sixty-four  miles 
due  west  to  Kingstown,  one  of  the  ports  of  Dublin,  only  six  miles 
from  the  North  Wall  in  Dublin  proper  where  other  steamers  dock. 


KINGSTOWN 


This  watery  path  to  Dublin  can  be  at  times  as  rough  as  the  rocki- 
est of  rocky  roads  to  that  same  city.  The  Irish  Channel  seems  to 
enjoy  giving  all  travelers  who  come  from  Britain  a  humorously 
vengeful  shaking  up.  From  Kingstown  frequent  Irish  trains  trans- 
port us  to  the  Metropolis.  The  name  of  Dublin  —  from  the  ancient 
Gaelic  "Duibh-linn"  —  means  the  "Black  Pool,"  but  why  this  name 
was  given  to  the  place  is  not  quite  clear;  possibly  in  allusion  to  the 
murky  waters  of  the  River  Liffey  on  the  banks  of  which  the  city  rose. 
Speaking  of  the  River  Liffey  the  guide  book  —  a  "bully"  Irish  guide 
book  —  says  that  "this  watery  highway  is  a  great  land-mark  that  can 


230 


IRELAND 


never  be  mistaken!"  Any  traveler  who  has  been  rash  enough  to 
lean  over  the  parapet  of  the  O'Connell  Bridge  and  take  "a  sniffy  of 
the  niffy  Liffey"  will  agree  that  it  can  never  be  mistaken  for  a  field 
of  new  mown  hay.  The  same  guidebook  tells  us  that  Sackville 


SACKVILLE    STREET    IN    DUBLIN 


Street,  the  leading  thoroughfare  of  Dublin,  is  the  finest  street  in  the 
United  Kingdom.  It  is,  or  rather  was,  a  nobly  impressive  avenue 
before  the  destruction  of  its  finest  buildings,  notably  the  General 
Post  Office  —  commonly  called  the  G.  P.  O.  in  the  ill-advised  out- 
break of  anti-British  hostilities  during  the  World  War.  At  that  time 
many  splendid  buildings  were  wrecked  by  conflagrations  or  by  shell 
fire  from  the  British  gun-boats  in  the  river. 


IRELAND 


The  noble  Nelson  Pillar,  however,  was  not  overturned  and  it  still 
dominates  the  splendidly  wide  stretch  of  this  Broadway  of  the  Irish 
Capital.  Atop  the  pillar  is  a  colossal  figure  of  Horatio  Nelson,  hero 
of  Trafalgar  —  the  man  who,  when  about  to  do  battle  with  the  Em- 
pire's enemies,  hoisted  the  signal,  "England  expects  every  man  will 
do  his  duty."  These  words  have  ever  since  inspired  Britain's  navy. 

Another  memorial  of  another  hero  stands  in  Sackville  Street.  At 
the  south  end,  near  the  O'Connell  Bridge,  rises  the  monument  to 
Daniel  O'Connell,  the  Irish  statesman  who  bears  the  inspiring  title 
of  "The  Liberator."  He  was  the  great  champion  of  the  Catholic 
Irish  in  their  struggle  for  emancipation  from  the  harsh  penal  code 
which  kept  them  in  a  sort  of  slavery.  Irish  Catholics  in  his  day  were 
treated  almost  as  pariahs.  Protestants  ruled  the  land. 

O'Connell  was  an  Irish  aristocrat,  but  a  hater  of  the  aristocratic 
British  rulers  of  his  country.  He  was  an  agitator  —  but  one  who 
recognized  the  folly  and  futility  of 
anarchy  and  communism.  He 
was  a  profoundly  religious 
man,  holding  with  intense 
fidelity  to  the  faith  of 
his  fathers.  He  was 
one  of  the  most 
conservative  liberals 
or  radicals  of  his 
time.  He  was  a 
lawyer  of  unusual 
skill  and  resource, 
without  a  rival  in 
the  art  of  winning 
over  juries  and 
when  he  brought 
the  cause  of 
Catholic  Ire- 


O'CONNELI.'S    MONUMENT 


232  IRELAND 

land  versus  Protestant  England  before  the  bar  of  public  opinion  of 
the  world,  Ireland  knew  that  her  case  was  in  most   expert  hands. 
The  Catholic  Association  formed   by   O'Connell   grew   in   numbers 
and  in  power  until  it  represented   a  great   national  movement  - 
orderly  —  discreetly  within  the  law  —  and  irresistible.     The  Catholic 


THE    PARLIAMENT    HOUSE    AND    GRATTAN's    STATUE 

claims  were  granted  in  1829.  Meantime  O'Connell  had  become  one 
of  the  leading  figures  in  the  British  Parliament  where  he  strove  ever 
for  the  good  of  Ireland.  But  in  supporting  the  campaign  for  the 
Repeal  of  the  Union  —  in  1842  and  1843  —  he  ran  counter  to  that 
all-powerful  public  opinion  which  had  been  with  the  cause  of  the 
Catholic  claims  in  1829.  He  was  arrested,  convicted  —  and  set  free. 
The  question  of  Repeal  was  lost  in  the  horrors  of  the  great  famine 


IRELAND 


233 


THE    BANK    OF    IRELAND 


in  Ireland  and,  in  1847,  while  on  his  way  to  Rome,  O'Connell  "The 
Liberator"  breathed  his  last.  He  sleeps  now  in  Glasnevin  Cemetery, 
his  slumber  guarded  by  a  great  round  tower,  a  modern  replica  of  the 


TRINITY   COLLEGE 


IRELAND 


TRINITY   COLLEGE    LIBRARY 


ancient  Celtic  round  towers  that  mark  so  many  holy  places  in  the 
land  he  loved  and  served  so  well.  He  had  once  said,  "My  heart  to 
Rome,  my  body  to  Ireland,  my  soul  to  Heaven." 

The  life  and  efforts  of  Henry  Grattan,  another  famous  lover  of 
this  much-loved  and  much-wronged  land  of  Erin,  are  commemo- 
rated by  another  monument  that  stands  before  the  classic  fagade  of 
the  impressive  old  stone  pile  that  was  once  upon  a  time  the  Parlia- 
ment House  of  Ireland.  Later  it  was  occupied  by  the  Bank  of  Ireland, 
but  within  its  halls  Irishmen  may  again  make  Irish  laws  for  Ireland. 
Grattan  as  one  of  Ireland's  greatest  orators  was  the  chief  ornament  of 
that  assembly.  He  was  a  Protestant.  At  that  time  no  Catholic 
could  hold  office  in  Ireland  and  all  Irish  legislative  action  was  subject 
to  the  approval  of  the  Privy  Council  of  Great  Britain.  Without  its 
consent  no  bill  could  be  introduced  in  the  Irish  Parliament;  once 
introduced  it  could  not  be  amended.  But  the  greater  part  of  legis- 
lation for  Ireland  was  done  in  England  and  absolutely  without  the 
concurrence  of  the  Dublin  Parliament. 


IRELAND 


235 


THE    FOUR  COURTS 


In  1782  "Grattan's  Parliament,"  as  it  was  called,  issued  its  decla- 
ration of  independence.  His  wisdom  and  his  oratory  triumphed  and 
his  Parliament  was  given  powers  hitherto  denied  it.  In  his  own 
words  — 

"I  found  Ireland  on  her  knees;  I  watched  over  her  with  paternal 
solicitude;  I  have  traced  her  progress  from  injuries  to  arms,  and  from 
arms  to  liberty  —  Ireland  is  now  a  nation !" 


THE    NEW    MUSEUM    AND   LIBRARY 


236 


IRELAND 


In  token  of  Ireland's  gratitude  a  grant  of  a  hundred  thousand 
pounds  was  voted  him,  but  Grattan  could  not  be  forced  to  accept 
more  than  the  half  of  it.  He  was  one  of  the  leading  opponents  of  the 
union  of  the  Dublin  with  the  London  Parliament  but  it  was  effected 
in  1801  despite  his  protests.  From  his  seat  he  had  launched  the 
eloquent  defi:  "I  will  remain  anchored  here,  with  fidelity  to  the  for- 
tunes of  my  country,  faithful  to  her  freedom,  faithful  to  her  fall." 
But  five  years  later  he  took  his  place  on  the  Irish  benches  at  West- 


GAELIC   WORDS 


minster.  It  is  related  that  the  great  leader  Fox,  seeing  Grattan 
modestly  occupying  an  inconspicuous  back  seat,  led  him  forward 
saying,  "This  is  no  place  for  the  Irish  Demosthenes." 

He  continued  to  serve  Ireland  well  in  London.  As  Sydney  Smith 
said,  "No  government  ever  dismayed  him.  The  world  could  not 
bribe  him.  He  thought  only  of  Ireland;  lived  for  no  other  object; 
dedicated  to  her  his  beautiful  fancy,  his  elegant  wit,  his  manly  cour- 
age, and  all  the  splendor  of  his  astonishing  eloquence."  Lecky 
insists  that  "he  had  through  the  whole  of  his  life  a  strong  conviction 


IRELAND 


237 


that  while  Ireland  could  best  be  governed  by  Irish  hands,  democracy 
in  Ireland  would  inevitably  turn  to  plunder  and  anarchy!"  Although 
consistently  opposed  to  the  union  of  the  Irish  with  the  British  Parlia- 
ment he  said  in  his  last  speech  in  1819:  "The  marriage  having  taken 
place  it  is  now  the  duty,  as  it  ought  to  be  the  inclination,  of  every 
individual  to  render  it  as  fruitful,  as  profitable,  and  as  advantageous 
as  possible."  He  died  in  the  following  year  and  was  buried  in  West- 
minster Abbey  near  the  tombs  of  Pitt  and  Fox  and  other  great  ones 
of  the  great  nation  to  which  he  had  remained  ever  loyal  —  even 
though  at  the  same  time  he  was  assuming  the  role  of  the  most  power- 
ful defender  of  the  rights  and  most  fearless  denunciator  of  the  wrongs 
of  Ireland. 

His  work  was  taken  up  and  car- 
ried on,  as  we  have  seen,  by  Daniel 
O'Connell  —  and  after  him  came 
James  Stewart  Parnell,  whose  grave 
is  within  the  shadow  of  the  O'Con- 
nell monument  at  Glasnevin.  Since 
Parnell 's  time  the  champions  of 
Ireland  have  been  many  but  their 
work  is  not  yet  ended  —  the  future 
alone  can  tell  of  their  success  or 
failure.  Posterity  alone  can  assign 
to  them  their  rightful  places  among 
the  hosts  of  able,  eager  sons  of  Erin 
who  have  labored,  suffered,  and  died 
for  her  welfare  and  her  freedom. 

To  the  traveler  Dublin  offers 
an  interesting  contrast  to  London 
and  Edinburgh,  the  sister  capitals. 
Dublin,  despite  its  noble  buildings, 
does  not  seem  to  be  a  show  town 
—  it's  just  Dublin.  There  are  no 
great  new  and  luxurious  hotels, 


THE    O  COS  NELL   MONUMENT 


'38 


IRELAND 


with  all  modern  conveniences  —  and  vulgarities  —  and  extravagances. 
The  best  the  city  has  to  offer  to  the  fastidious  visitor  is  the  his- 
toric Shelbourne  Hotel  which  will  seem  to  him  more  like  an  over- 
grown boarding  house  of  the  first  class,  than  like  a  metropolitan 
caravansary.  But  the  longer  the  stranger  stays  the  better  he  will 
like  the  good  old-fashioned  Shelbourne. 

In  the  course  of  our  first  visit  we  had  seen  the  sights  of  Dublin  — 
the  two  old  Cathedrals,  the  superb  pile  called  the  Four  Courts  —  the 
various  buildings  of  Trinity  College  —  and  the  fine  modern  group 
of  buildings  occupied  by  the  Royal  Dublin  Society,  the  Library,  the 
Museum  of  Irish  Antiquities,  and  the  National  Art  Gallery  of  Ireland, 
the  latter  containing  a  surprisingly  well-chosen  array  of  old  masters 
and  of  modern  canvases.  The  collection  of  Irish  antiquities  is  the 
finest  in  the  world,  including  as  it  does  those  famous  specimens  of 
metal  work  —  the  Cross  of  Cong,  the  Tara  Brooches,  and  the  Shrine 
of  St.  Patrick's  Bell  —  and  more  precious  than  these  works  of  art, 
the  very  bell  itself,  the  crude  old  holy  bell,  used  by  St.  Patrick  him- 
self fourteen  hundred  years  ago. 

Still  another  visit  had  brought  us  to  Dublin  for  the  great  and 
famous  annual  Horse  Show  which  for  several  decades  has  been  num- 
bered   among    the    most    im- 
portant sporting  events  of  the 
old  world. 

During  Horse  Show  Week 
late  in   August,  Dublin, 


THE    SHELBOURNE    HOTEL 


IRELAND 


239 


becomes  the  Mecca  of  the  fashionable  world  and  the  Shelbourne 
Hotel  becomes  the  goal  of  every  fashionable  pilgrim.  Rooms  must 
be  booked  at  least  three  months  in  advance;  many  people  bespeak 


STEPHEN    S  GREEN 


their  rooms  from 
year  to  year.  We 
arrived  a  week  be- 
fore the  fashion- 
able influx  began. 
It  was  interesting 
to  watch  the  rap- 
id but  temporary 
transformation  of 
the  simple  old 
hotel  into  a 

DUBLIN    DARLINGS 


24° 


IRELAND 


IN  THE    DISTANCE,  THE    NELSON     PILLAR 


Dublin  double  of  the  London  Ritz,  Savoy,  and  Carlton.  French 
chefs  took  possession  of  the  kitchen  which  became  for  the  nonce  a 
cuisine.  Polyglot  waiters  —  from  the  spas  of  the  Continent  —  re- 
placed the  broguey  Dublin  boys  who  wait  at  table  in  ordinary 
seasons.  Fine  linen,  rare  porcelain,  exquisite  glassware,  and  rich 
old  silver  plate  made  their  brief  annual  appearances  upon  the 


THE  THEATRE    ROYAL 


IRELAND 


241 


tables  of  the  dim  old  dining   room  —  and    while    the  Horse  Show 
visitors  remain,  the  hotel  is  truly  a  hotel  de  luxe. 

Ten  thousand  people  gather  at  the  Exhibition  Grounds  at  Ball's 
Bridge  on  each  of  the  four  days  of  the  Dublin  Horse  Show,  which  is 
essentially  a  "hunter"  show.  Irish  hunters  are  the  finest  in  the  world. 
Buyers  from  all  corners  of  the  world  gather  to  get  the  pick  of  the 


SUBURBAN    ARCHITECTURE 


prize-winners.  The  crowning  feature  of  each  day's  program  is  the 
jumping  competition.  There  are  all  kinds  of  jumps  to  test  the  skill 
of  the  riders  and  the  strength,  agility,  endurance,  and  courage  of  the 
hunters.  There  are  ordinary  hurdles,  fences,  ditches,  banks,  and 
double  banks  over  which  the  hunters  seem  to  fly,  and  there  are  stone 
walls  five  feet  high  —  walls  of  solid  masonry  with  a  few  loose  cobble 
stones  heaped  along  the  top.  Over  these  obstacles  the  flying  horses 
go,  as  lightly  and  as  surely  as  sea-gulls  skim  the  frothy  wave.  On  the 
last  day  of  the  show,  after  the  last  hoof  has  flung  defiance  at  the  skies, 


242 


IRELAND 


TAKING    THE    FIVE    FOOT    STONE    WALL 


Fashion  forsakes  Ball's  Bridge  and  goes  a'jaunting  in  a  thousand 
jaunting  cars  to  one  of  the  many  race  courses  that  abound  in  the 
vicinity  of  Dublin.  But  as  horse  racing  is  to  me  one  of  the  least 


IRISH     HVNTEIIS 


IRELAND 


243 


alluring  of  all  sports  —  except  at  Longchamps  or  Auteuil,  where  you 
can't  see  the  horses  for  the  frocks  and  frills  —  I  went  a'jaunting  in 
other  directions  —  out  to  the  Hill  of  Howth,  whence  one  can  look  at 
"Ireland's  Eye" --which  little  island  got  its  name  from  the  old 
Danes  who  once  ruled  all  this  region.  Their  word  for  island  was 
"oe"  —  and  that's  so  near  the  modern  Irish  way  of  saying  "eye" 
that  the  "Oe  of  Ireland"  becomes  quite  naturally  Ireland's  Eye. 
Upon  that  island  stood  a  very  famous  ancient  chapel  where  was  en- 


AT  THE   DUBLIN   HORSE    SHOW 


shrined  a  copy  of  the  Four  Gospels  —  executed  in  the  seventh  cen- 
tury. It  was  known  as  the  "Garland  of  Howth"  and  is  now  preserved 
in  the  Library  of  Trinity  College  in  Dublin. 

For  longer  jaunts  the  hurried  traveler  will  exchange  the  fascinat- 
ing but  unspeedy  jaunting  car  for  a  swift,  prosaic  touring  car.  The 
road  southward  from  Dublin  is  an  inviting  one,  bordered  as  it  is  by 
the  magnificent  estates  of  the  Irish  aristocracy.  One  of  those  lordly 


244 


IRELAND 


ON   THE   WAY   TO   HOWTH 


mansions  was  once  the  wigwam  of  a  great  chief  from  the  new  world, 
the  one-time  cacique  of  the  conquering  Irish  clan  called  Tammany  — 
which,  since  his  time,  with  brief  interruptions,  has  continued  to  rule 


BY    JAUNTING   CAR    AND  TRAM 


IRELAND 

the  greatest  city  of  the  western   hemisphere  in 
its  own  peculiar  way.  Boss  Croker  here  sat  at 


245 


IRELAND  S  EYE      FROM  THE  HILL  OF  HOWTH 

ease,  far  from  Fourteenth  Street  and  the  troubled  throne  of  Tarn- 


THIS  IS  IRELAND 


246 


IRELAND 

many  —  but  his  reign  is  not  forgot- 
ten and  the  chiefs  of  the  clan 
have  perpetuated  his  meth- 
ods o  f  subjugating  and 
governing  the  native 
American  aristocracy  and 
the  polyglot  proletariat 
of  the  metropolis  of  the 
United  States. 
Among  the  famous  places 
in  the  environs  of  Dublin  we 
must  not  fail  to  mention 
Donnybrook — celebrated  for  its 
old-time  annual  Fair  about  which 
so  many  stories  have  been  told.  The 
first  recorded  Fair  was  held  there  in  the  reign  of  good  King  John, 
who  was  "graciously  pleased"  to  grant  a  license  for  it  in  the  year 
1204.  Doubtless,  the  medieval  towns-folk  and  peasants  who  fre- 


SOUTH    OF   DUBLIN 


IRELAND 


247 


quented  the  earlier 
Fairs  were  on  their 
good  behavior;  but 
with  the  passing  of 
the  years  the  doings 
there  at  Donny- 
brook  waxed  more 
and  more  disorderly 
until  the  name  of 
"Donnybrook  Fair" 
came  to  stand  for 
all  that  was  merry 
and  maudlin,  "peppy"  and  pugnacious,  bibulous  and  bellicose. 
Even  the  fabled  Kilkenny  Cats  began  to  look  askance  at  Donnybrook, 
and  finally  in  1855,  the  scandals  of  the  Fair  having  become  inter- 
nationally notorious,  the  authorities  bought  out  the  rights  of  the 
proprietors  and  suppressed  the  historic  quarrelsome  carouse. 

Another  name  that  conjures  up  strange  doings  of  past  days  is 
Dalkey.  In  that  little  sea-port  city  was  the  scene  of  the  peculiar  and 
fantastic  ceremonials  of  the  so-called  "Kingdom  of  Dalkey."  There 
every  year  a  Carnival  King  held  festive  Court.  His  title  was  no  less 


A    PRIVATE    ESTATE 


AN    IRISH    CASTLE 


248 


IRELAND 


than  this:  "His  Facetious  Majesty,  Stephen  the  First,  King  of  Dalkey, 
Emperor  of  Muglins,  Prince  of  the  Holy  Island  of  Magee,  Elector  of 
Lambay  and  Ireland's  Eye,  Defender  of  his  own  Faith  and  Respecter 
of  all  others,  Sovereign  of  the  Illustrious  Order  of  the  Lobster  and  the 
Periwinkle."  Twenty  thousand  persons  attended  the  coronation  of 
the  last  of  those  burlesque  potentates  whose  "Kingdom"  was  abol- 


ished in  1797  —  much  to  the  regret  of  his  myriads  of  subjects.  All  of 
which  proves  that  the  Irish  of  those  days  possessed  a  sufficient  sense 
of  humor  to  take  matters  that  were  really  of  no  consequence  with  a 
seriousness  and  solemnity  that  was  appalling. 

It  was  while  motoring  down  the  coast  from  Dalkey  that  we  col- 
lided with  an  Irish  bull  —  at  a  garage.  Rumors  of  a  scarcity  of  gaso- 
line had  alarmed  us  and  we  eagerly  inquired  if  the  price  of  "petrol" 
had  gone  up.  "No,"  said  the  garage-keeper,  "the  price  of  petrol  is 
quite  the  same,  Sir  —  but  there  isn't  any!" 


IRELAND 


249 


....-*  . 


BRAY  HEAD  HOTEL 


A  run  of  thirteen  miles  southward  from  Dublin  brings  us  to  Bray, 
"the  Irish  Brighton"  —  the  most  easily  accessible  and  most  popu- 
lar of  the  seaside  resorts  of  the  beautiful  Wicklow  Coast.  We 
pause  at  Bray  only  long  enough  for  a  stroll  along  the  esplanade, 


"TAV"  AT  BRAY 


IRELAND 

250 

scramble  up  the  bold  promontory  of  Bray  Head,  and  a  cup  of  "tay" 
at  one  of  the  tiny  tea  rooms.  Farther  on  in  the  heart  of  County 
Wicklow,  there  awaits  us  a  place  that  ranks  far  higher  among  the 
beauty  spots  of  Ireland.  It  is  the  very  famous,  very  sacred,  and  very 

ley   called 
beautiful  val- 

Glen- 


THE  VAI.E  OF  Ol.ENDALOUGH 


—  the  Glen  of  the  Two  Lakes.  This  green,  green  glen  with  its 
two  lovely  lakes,  its  comfortable  inn,  its  seven  ancient  Celtic 
churches,  and  its  grim  old  Irish  Tower,  has  been  a  very  holy  place 
for  more  than  thirteen  hundred  years.  In  the  sixth  century  Glen- 
dalough  was  a  city  of  churches  and  nunneries  and  monasteries, 
founded  by  the  great  Saint  Kevin,  who  was  a  very  holy  man  of  royal 


IRELAND 


251 


Irish  blood.  Myth 
and  legend  have  ever 
since  been  busy  with 
his  name  and  fame. 
He  dwelt  for  five 
long  years  in  a  tomb- 
like  pigeon-hole  in 
the  rocky  cliff  that 
rises  from  the  waters 
of  the  upper  of  the 
two  sacred  lakes. 

As   Tom   Moore 
tells  us  — 

"By  that  lake  whose  gloomy  shore 
Skylark  never  warbled  o'er, 
Where  the  cliff  hangs  high  and  steep 
Young  St.  Kevin  stole  to  sleep." 

His  tiny  cavern  is  still  called  "Saint  Kevin's  Bed."     It  is  related 
that  even  in  this  almost  inaccessible  retreat  he  was  not  safe  from  the 


THE  ROUND  TOWER 


252 


IRELAND 


pursuit  of  the  notorious  lady  of  this  lake -the  exquisite  vampire  of 
that  far-off  day,  the  beautiful  Kathleen,  who  adored  him  —  but  not 
in  the  manner  in  which  saints  should  be  adored.  Her  eyes,  according 
to  the  chroniclers  of  the  period,  were  "of  a  most  unholy  blue." 
Evidently  there  were  blonde  vampires  in  those  days.  But  the  saint 


THE  UPPER  LAKE  OF  GLENDALOUOH 


was  of  the  ilk  of  Anthony.  Our  guide  informs  us  that  the  good  Saint 
Kevin  was  "so  holy"  that  when  the  terribly  sweet  Kathleen  intruded 
upon  his  devotions  he  tossed  her  into  the  lake  where  she  was  "drownd- 
ed  dead"  — but  this  seems  to  us  an  ungodly  way  to  treat  a  lady. 

To-day  Saint  Kevin's  Bed  is  a  place  of  pilgrimage  for  spinsters  — 
young  and  otherwise.  A  rough  and  risky  stairway  has  been  fashioned 
in  the  almost  vertical  face  of  the  cliff  and  by  means  of  it,  damsels 
desirous  of  reaching  the  refuge  of  the  holy  man  may  climb  nearly  to 
their  destination  —  but  really  to  reach  it,  they  must  have  the  help 
of  the  two  sturdy  and  skillful  guides  who  have  had  years  of  practice 


IRELAND 


253 


in   lifting    fair  pilgrims   around    a  jut- 
^     ting  angle    of  the   cliff  and  sliding 
them  feet  foremost  into  old 
Saint  Kevin's  ancient  "upper 
berth."    The  guides  assure 
all  comers  that  any  wish 
t      made  while  lying  snugly 
there  in  Kevin's  Bed  will 
without  fail    be    soon 
fulfilled  to  the  letter. 

They    insist    that 
every  colleen  who  has 
I   ever  made  a  wish  for 
[    a  handsome  husband 
there,   has   invariably 


returned  the  follow- 
ing season  to  thank 
the  Saint  —  and  ex- 
hibit the  husband. 
Hence  the  rushing 
business  done  every 
summer  by  those 
strong-armed  guides 
of  Glendalough. 


254 


IRELAND 


However,  most  Irish  girls  are  sure  of  getting  husbands  without 

bothering  Saint  Kevin  or  any  other  saint;  they  have  a  way  with  them. 

Another  lovely  scenic  treasure  in  this  lovely  land  is  found  in  the 


THE  VALE  OF  OVOCA 


Vale  of  Ovoca,  through  which  flow  the 
mingled  waters  of  the  Avonmore 
and  the  Avonbeg.    These  rivers, 
at  the  meeting  of  their  waters, 
lose  their  identities  and  names 
and  become  the  Ovoca  River, 
taking  the  name  of  the  world-    • 
famous  vale    through    which 
they  roll  on  toward  the    sea. 
The  Vale   of  Avoca,  as  Tom 


TOM   MOORE   S  TREE 


IRELAND 


255 


. 


IN  THE  VALE 


Moore   called   it    when  he 
sat  beneath  the  tree  that  is 
still  known  as  Tom  Moore's 
Tree,  and  wrote  the  verses 
that  have  made  this  valley 
famous  —  will  always  be  for 
us    and     for    all    the 
world,  the  Vale  of 
Avoca  —  despite  the 
efforts  of  the  map- 
makers  and  geog- 
raphers   and    guide 
books  to  tell  us  that 
the    name    should    be 
But  all    agree    with 


spelled  with  an  "O"  and  not  with  an  "A." 
Moore  when  he  sings  — 

"There  is  not  in  the  wide 

world  a  valley  so  sweet 
As  the  vale  in  whose  bosom  the 
bright  waters  meet." 

High  above  the  vale  on  the    ridge  of  Cronebane  lies  the  huge 


THE  MOTTHA   STONE 


256 


IRELAND 


AH    IRISH  LANDSCAPE 


Mottha  Stone,  left  there,  so  say  geologists,  by  the  great  glacier  that 
once  covered  with  its  icy  mass  the  lovely  region  through  which  we 
are  traveling  to-day  under  the  warm  and  beaming  summer  sun. 

It  is  always  interesting  to  find  oneself  unexpectedly  confronted  by 
a  familiar  name.  This  happens  to  us  as  we  motor  into  an  Irish  vil- 
lage and  read,  above  the  door  of  the  humble  and  peaceful  looking 
post  office,  the  familiar  and  belligerent  name  "SHILLELAGH." 
We  had  never  realized  that  there  could  be  a  place  of  that  name.  We 
had  always  thought  of  a  shillelah  as  a  stick  in  the  hands  of  an  irate 
Hibernian.  Thus  the  educational  possibilities  of  travel  are  impressed 
upon  us.  Travel  and  learn !  Shillelagh  is  the  name  of  a  village  in  the 
County  Wicklow  and  of  a  neighboring  wood  from  which  come  the 
world-famous  sticks  or  knotted  staves  that  have  broken  so  many 
heads  in  the  century-long  quarrels  of  a  quick-tempered  people.  The 
real  shillelah  of  Shillelagh  is  of  oak  or  blackthorn  and  grows  to  stout 
and  formidable  maturity  in  a  little  forest  of  that  name. 

After  all  that  we  have  heard  about  "the  hovels  of  the  Irish  peas- 


IRELAND 

antry"  we  are  amazed  to  find  the 
land  so  rich  in  neat  and  com- 
fortable   looking    homes 
We  see  many  a  charm- 
ing little   "hovel"  that 
we  should  be  glad  to 
own.     We  see  a   hun- 
dred spick   and    span 
white  cottages  to  every 
mile,  as  trim  and  gleam- 
ing as  care  and  fresh  coats 
of  whitewash   can   make 
and   keep  them.      We   pass 
through    towns    that   are  well 
paved,  well  kept,  and  where  even 
the  houses  in  the  poorer  streets  are 
wearing  decent  coats  of  white  that's  nearly  white. 

We  as  Americans  cannot  but  contrast  the  trim  and  cared-for  aspect 
of  these  towns  of  "poor  old  Ireland"  with  the  untidy,  neglected,  even 


IN    THE    VILLAGE   OF    SHILLELAGH 


SHILLELAGH    POST    OFFICE 


IRELAND 


tumble-down  appearance  of  the  really  rich  and  prosperous  towns  in 
many  of  our  wealthiest  states.  The  traveler  sees  more  conspicuous 
evidences  of  neglect,  of  unpainted  houses,  of  rubbish-filled  back  yards, 


COLLEENS— YOUNG  AND    OLD 


IRELAND 


259 


EGGS 

SOLD  IN  THIS  DAIRY 

GUARANTEED 
IRISH. 


of   ruinous    out-houses,    and    of    general 
untidiness  in  crossing  the  proverbially 
plutocratic  states  of  Ohio  and 
Indiana   than  are  to  be   observed 
in  all  the  length  and  breadth  of 
"poverty-stricken  Ireland."      We 
Americans    have   the    richest 
country  under  Heaven  —  and  we 
allow  many  of  the  places  in  it  to 
look  like  —  the  Other  Place! 
Among  the  famous  scenes  in  Ireland 
none   is  more  widely  known   by   name 


than  Tara's  Hill,  which  lies  some  twenty 
miles  from   Dublin.      We  have  all 
heard    how    once    "the  Harp   i 
Tara's  Halls"    and   the   singers 
of   the   ancient  Celtic  Kings 
told  of  the  glory  of  the  land 
of  which  this  Hill  of  Tara 
was  for  twenty-five  hundred 
years  the  capital  and  sanc- 
tuary.    It  was  the  seat  of 
one  hundred  and  forty-two 
successive    Kings    of    Ire- 
land and    the  site  of   the 
most    holy    temples.       So 
holy  was  the   hill  that  no 
man,  even  though  he  were 
a  king,  might  dwell  there- 
on    if    he    possessed    the 
slightest  physical  imper- 
fection.   Standing  on  that 
sacred   site    to-day   it  is 
impressive  to  recall  the 


2OO 


IRELAND 


AN   IRISH 
COTTAOtf 


words  of  Dr.  Healy  who 
reminds     us    that 
"There    was  a  royal 
residence    on     the 
Hill   of  Tara   be- 
fore    Rome    was 
founded,     before 
Athena's  earliest 
shrine    crowned 
the  acropolis    of 
Athens,  about   the 
time  perhaps  that 

sacred  Ilium  first  saw  the  hostile  standards  of  the  Kings  of  Hellas." 
The  site  of  those  holy  Halls  of  Tara  is  marked  now  only  by  mounds 
and  ditches  on  the  top  of  a  hill,  so  broad  and  low  as  to  appear  almost 
like  the  surface  of  a  plain.  A  statue  of  St.  Patrick  crowns  the  ridge, 
reminding  us  that  Ireland's  great  Saint  stood  there  in  his  own  person 
in  the  year  433  and  preached  to  the  assembled  multitude. 

In  modern  times  a  greater  multitude  of  Catholic  Irish  folk  as- 
sembled here  to  listen  to  the  mighty  champion  of  their  faith,  Daniel 
O'Connell.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  people  were  gathered 
here  that  memorable  day  in  1843. 

The  statue  of 
Ireland's  patron 
saint  is  crude  and 
modern  —  for  it  is 
the  work  of  a  local 
stone  cutter,  not 
that  of  an  old  mas- 
ter in  the  art  of 
sculpture.  Near  it 
rises  a  thing  of  stone 
that  is  indeed  an- 
tique —  if  we  may 


GLEAMING 
GATE    POSTS 


IRELAND 


261 


credit  all  that  legend  says  of  it.  It  looks  like  a  battered  stone  post, 
imbedded  in  the  sod,  weathered  and  rounded  by  the  centuries.  It 
is  called  the  "Lia  Fail"  — the  "Stone  of  Destiny."  It  was  once 
the  pillow  of  the  Patriarch  Jacob.  It  came  to  Ireland  with  the 
Ark.  It  served  as  coronation  seat  for  all  the  Irish  Kings.  It  is 


A    WHITE  HOME    IN    A    GREEN    LAND 


now  in  two  places!  It  stands  here  on  Tara's  Hill  —  and  yet  accord- 
ing to  a  host  of  historic  witnesses  it  was  carried  to  Scone  in  Scotland, 
where  Kings  were  crowned  upon  it  —  thence  it  was  taken  by  Edward 
the  Confessor  to  England,  where  since  his  time  it  has  formed  part  of 
the  coronation  chair  in  Westminster  Abbey,  where  we  ourselves  have 
also  seen  it  with  our  own  eyes  as  clearly  as  we  see  it  now  —  under 
the  Irish  sky  on  Tara's  holy  hill. 

But  for  a  place  so  famous  there  is  little  to  repay  the  traveler  here 
except  the  statue  and  the  stone.  We  know  not  what  they  were  like, 
those  vanished  Halls  of  Tara,  of  which  no  picture  has  come  down 
to  us;  but  in  another  part  of  Ireland  the  traveler  may  find  structures 


262 


IRELAND 


ON   THE    HILL    OF   TARA 


that  doubtless  were  coeval  with  them  —  ancient  forts,  older  than 
the  memory  of  man  —  mysterious  monuments  of  a  heroic  age  about 
which  we  know  practically  nothing. 

Staigue  Fort  in  County  Kerry  was  built  not  less  than  two  thousand 
years  ago.  The  stones  were  laid  without  a  trace  of  mortar;  a  single 
door  gives  access  and  there  are  stairways  leading  from  the  inner  court 
up  to  the  platforms  where  the  defenders  stood  behind  a  parapet  of 
which  a  portion  even  now  remains. 

Equally  interesting,  though  far  less 
celebrated  than  either  Tara  or  Staigue 
Fort  is  the  tumulus  of  Newgrange, 
about  twenty  miles  from  Tara's 
Hill.    Yet  even  Newgrange  is,  at 
first  sight,  disappointing — a  low 
hill  tufted  with  a  clump  of  trees. 
Nevertheless  it  is  one  of   the 
most  important  prehistoric  mon- 
uments in  Ireland,  a  creation 
resembling  the  tombs  discovered 
by  Dr.   Schliemann  on  the  site 
of  the  prehistoric  city  of  Mycenae 
in  old  Greece.  The  hill  of  Newgrange 

ST.    PATRICK   AND  THE    STONE   OF  DESTINY 


IRELAND 


263 


is  not  a  natural  hill,  it  is  a  pile  of  masonry  now  completely  hidden  by 
the  overgrowing  vegetation,  leaving  nothing  to  indicate  that  man  had 
formed  it,  except  the  circle  of  huge  stones  that  stand  at  regular  in- 
tervals around  its  base.  There  are  now  only  twelve,  but  there  were 


STAIGUE    FORT 


at  one  time  thirty  of  those  encircling  boulders.  The  low  doorway  is 
marked  by  a  gigantic  oval  stone,  on  which  appear  strange  carved 
designs,  recalling  the  spirals  on  the  golden  disks  that  Schliemann 
found  in  the  tomb  of  Agamemnon.  A  long  narrow  corridor,  just 
high  enough  for  a  dwarf  and  wide  enough  for  a  thin  man,  invites  us 
to  enter  —  on  hands  and  knees;  invites,  or  rather  forbids,  for  our 
Irish  driver  crosses  himself  and  murmurs,  "Not  for  wurrulds."  We, 
too,  have  our  misgivings  —  but  we  crawl  in,  and  creep  forward  sixty- 
two  feet  in  utter  blackness,  until  at  last  the  passage  broadens  into  a 
circular  chamber  in  which  we  can  stand  erect.  This  was  undoubtedly 


264 


IRELAND 


NEWGRANGE 


the  burial  chamber  of  some  now  unremembered  Irish  king,  whose 
bones  and  treasure  were  long  since  stolen  by  the  Norsemen  or  the 
Danes.  Above  our  heads  a  dome  nineteen  feet  high,  formed  by  great 
stones,  each  overhanging  by  a  trifle  the  one  below,  in  the  manner  of 
the  prehistoric  arches  found  in  the  cyclopean  citadel  of  Tiryns  in 
Greece.  We  stumble  over  several  huge  stone  basins;  we  note  on  three 
sides,  alcoves  or  recesses;  and  we  observe  on  nearly  all  the  larger 
stones,  strange  figures  and  designs,  cut  by  crude  instruments  held  in 
crude  prehistoric  hands. 

Not  very  far  from  Newgrange  there  was  fought  in  1690  the  most 
momentous  battle  in  the  history  of  Ireland.  It  was  the  Battle  of  the 
Boyne  —  the  spot  where  it  raged  fiercest 
marked  by  an  obelisk  mirrored  to-day  in 
the  placid  waters  of  the  lovely  River 
Boyne.  Two  hundred  years  and 
more  have  passed  since  William  of 
Orange  here  met  and  defeated  the 
Irish  forces  of  his  own  father-in- 
law,  James  the  Second,  from 
whom  he  had  already  taken  the 
throne  of  England,  less  than  two 


IRELAND 


265 


PREHISTORIC    SYMBOLS 


years  before.  The  defeated  James  fled  to  Dublin  and  the  army  that 
had  marched  with  him  out  from  the  gates  of  Drogheda  was  dis- 
persed by  a  super- 
ior force.  The  old 
walled  town  of 
Drogheda  which 
boasts  one  of  the 
finest  fortified 
gates  in  all  Ireland, 
surrendered  to 
King  William  on 
the  following  day. 
Near  Drogheda 
are  found  the  finest 
Celtic  crosses  in 
the  land.  They 
stand  in  the  old 


N    THE    TOMB   CHAMBER 


266 


IRELAND 


cemetery  of  Monasterboice.  They  are  two  in  number,  of  dull  grey 
stone;  one  is  fifteen  feet  in  height,  the  other  twenty-seven  feet, 
but  less  elaborately  carved.  From  top  to  bottom  nearly  every  inch 
of  surface  has  been  shaped  by  the  chisel  of  the  artist,  bringing  into 
low  relief  designs  and  figures  of  amazing  quaintness,  some  of  them 


THE   GATE  OF   DROGHKD* 


even  ludicrous  in  the  eyes  of  the  sophisticated  modern  critic,  and 
yet  all  imbued  with  the  naive  religious  feeling  of  ten  hundred  years 
ago,  for  these  crosses  are  at  least  a  thousand  years  of  age. 

They  are  nearly  as  old  as  the  Round  Tower  that  holds  its  broken 
head  one  hundred  and  ten  feet  above  this  burial  ground.  The  Round 
Tower  of  Ireland  is  a  unique,  characteristic  architectural  form. 
Nothing  precisely  like  it  has  been  found  in  any  other  country.  There 
are  in  Ireland  no  fewer  than  eighty  of  these  ancient  Round  Towers, 


IRELAND 


267 


twenty  of  which   are   prac- 
tically intact,  and  still 
^k      crowned  with  their 
conical    caps    of 
stone. 

Many  fan- 
tastic theories 
have  been  ad- 
vanced to  ac- 
count for  these 
monuments  of  such  a 
strange  simplicity.  They 
have  been  ascribed  to  the  Persi- 
ans, the  Phoenicians,  the  Druids  and 
the  Danes;  but  to-day  authorities  agree  that  they  were  simply  the 
belfries  of  the  old  Irish  monasteries,  the  ruins  of  which  are  almost 
invariably  found  close  at  hand.  The  belfries  served  also  as  citadels 


BATTLEFIELD  OF    THE    BOYNE 


DROCHEDA 


268 


IRELAND 


in  case  of  sudden  onslaught  by  the 
Norse  or  Danish  pirates  of  those 
wild  old  days  when  Viking 
fleets  were  always  hover- 
ing along  the  Irish  shore. 
We  note  that  the  few 
windows  are  like  loop- 
holes   and    that    the 
door  is  always  six  or 
nine    feet    from   the 
ground.      The   perfect 
preservation  of  these  tow- 
ers seems  not  so  remarkable 
when    we    consider    their 
structure  and  their 


form;  they  are  of 
each  block  adjusted 
crack  nor  cranny; 


stone, 

with  astonishing  precision,  leaving  no 
they  are  round,  opposing  no  angles 


CARVED 
A  THOUSAND 
YEARS  AGO 


THE  CEMETERY    OF 

MON  A  STEREO  ICE 


IRELAND 


269 


to  the  elements;  their  tops  are  shaped  like  a  half-closed  umbrella, 
shedding  the  snow  and  rain;  and  thus  secure  in  their  strength 
and  their  simplicity  they  have  outlived  by  many  hundred  years  the 
ornate  churches  to  which  their  bells  once  called  the  Celtic  Christians. 
In  the  ancient  Irish  annals  the  name  Cloigtheach  —  or  "House  of 
a  Bell" — is  given  to  these  towers,  and  this  in  itself  should  be  sufficient 
to  convince  us  that  they  correspond  to  the  Campaniles  of  Italy  or 
the  Beffrois  of  France  or  the  Belfries  of  England. 


THE    FAMOUS   CROSS    OF    MUIREDACH 


We  know,  however,  or  should  know,  that  the  names  Beffroi  or 
Belfry  do  not  refer  to  bells.  Strictly  speaking  a  belfry  was  a  forti- 
fied tower,  or  a  tall  and  slender  citadel  —  in  which,  of  course,  great 
bells  were  hung  for  the  sounding  of  alarms;  but  the  presence  of  those 
bells  was  in  no  way  responsible  for  the  name  given  to  the  tower — 
although  common  usage  now  accepts  a  belfry  as  a  tower  in  which  bells 
are  hung.  It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  the  Cloigtheach  of  Ireland 
are  found  only  along  the  coast  or  along  the  courses  of  rivers  or  on 
the  shores  of  lakes  —  always  overlooking  the  waters  known  to  have 
been  visited  by  the  marauding  flotillas  of  the  desperate  Danes. 
The  most  nearly  perfect  tower  of  them  all  rises  on  a  deserted  island 


270 


IRELAND 


of  the  lovely  sheet  of  water  known  as  Lough  Erne -a  lake  that  cuts 
in  two  the  County  of  Fermanagh,  a  lake  that  is  in  reality  a  strangely 
broadened  river  that  reaches  the  sea  at  Ballyshannon.  The  island 
bears  the  name  of  Devenish  —  or  as  the  ancient  Celts  yclept  it, 
Daimh-inis— "The  Island  of  Oxen."  We  found  a  herd  of  cows  in 


THE  HOLY    RUINS  OF  DEVENISH  ISLAND 


occupation  —  drowsing  or  browsing  lazily  within  the  sacred  precincts 
of  what  was  once  one  of  the  holiest  and  most  artistic  ecclesiastic 
establishments  of  the  mid-fifteenth  century. 

Good  St.  Molaise  is  said  to  have  ruled  the  region  with  the  scepter 
of  his  pious  authority.  His  "House"  or  "Kitchen"  as  it  is  variously 
styled  still  stands  —  a  stony  ruin  on  the  site.  Near  it  looms  what  is 
left  of  his  "Great  Church"  or  Daimhling  and  his  "Bed"  in  which  a 
portion  of  a  stone  sarcophagus  is  to  be  seen  to-day.  The  shattered 
bulk  of  what  was  once  an  Abbey  crowns  a  neighboring  height.  But 


IRELAND 


271 


I 


I 


MOST  NEARLY  PERFECT  OF 
ALL  IRISH   TOWERS 


most  conspicuous  and  notable  among  these  archi- 
tectural records  of  a  religious  past,  the  tall  Round 
Tower  of  the  holy  island  lifts  its  still  perfect  cap 
of  accurately  adjusted  masonry  —  and  looks  out 
through  its  many  loop-hole-like  windows 
upon  the  now  abandoned  scene  of  St. 
Molaise's  labors.  Those  windows,  al- 
though all  high  and  narrow,  are 
variously  shaped.  One  on  the 
second  floor  is  nearly  triangular; 
one  on  the  third  floor,  on  the 
other  side,  quadrangular; 
the  next  above  is  square 
headed;  from  the  fifth  or 
topmost  story  four  windows 
open  to  the  four  points  of  the  com- 
pass —  for  a  lookout  tower  on  an  island  must  have  eyes  in  all  direc- 
tions. Nowhere  in  Ire- 
land did  we  feel  nearer 
to  the  strenuous  old  Vi- 
king raiders  —  or  to  the 
equally  strenuous  mili- 
tant monks  of  medieval 
Ireland  than  as  we  stood 
here  on  this  abandoned 
Isle  of  Oxen  in  Lough 
Erne — and  gazed  up  at 
that  grim  stone  cylinder 
that  has  stood  a  witness 
to  so  many  untold  alarms 
and  struggles  between  the 
Scandinavian  Pagans  of 
the  North  and  the  Celtic 
Catholics  of  Erin. 


THE     ROUND    TOWER    OF     DEVENISH 


272 


IRELAND 


From    the    Round 
Towers  of   those   early 
centuries  we  may  turn 
to   the  pointed 
spires  of   the 
new  Cathedral 
in  the  old  re- 
ligious capital 
of  Armagh. 
The  first 
Cathedral 
Church  of 

Armagh  was  founded  by  St.  Patrick  in  the  year  444  A.  D.  This  new 
cathedral  was  begun  in  1840  and  consecrated  in  the  summer  of  1904, 
thus  it  was  sixty-four  years  in  building.  The  interior  is  now  the 
richest  and  most  elaborate  in  Ireland.  The  pulpit  and  choir-screen 
are  masterpieces  in  chiseled  marble,  the  walls  are  covered  with 
mosaics  and  the  windows  glazed  with  glorious  stained  glass. 


IRELAND 


273 


But  as  it  is  in  striking  contrasts  that  the  traveler  finds  one  of  the 
keenest  pleasures  of  his  journey,  we  turn  now  from  the  comparatively 
rich,  industrious,  and  productive  regions  near  the  East  Coast  to  the 
poor  and  boggy  regions  of  the  undeveloped  West  of  Ireland. 

That  the  contrast  may  be  as  striking  as  possible  we  seek  one  of 

n 


THE  NAVE  OF  THE  NEWEST  GREAT  SANCTUARY  OF  IRELAND 

the  most  remote  and  proverbially,  poorest  regions.  We  come  to 
Achill  Island  —  a  bare,  boggy  and,  in  its  way,  beautiful  island  which 
is  separated  from  the  mainland  only  by  a  narrow  strait. 

Peat  cutting  is  apparently  the  only  profitable  occupation  possible 
in  Achill.  The  peat  costs  the  people  nothing  but  the  labor  of  slicing 
it  from  the  mass  of  the  bog,  stacking  it  up  to  dry  and  finally  hauling 
it  home  to  the  hearth  in  some  poor  hovel.  Every  tenant  has  the 
right  to  cut  peat  somewhere  on  the  master's  lands.  Large  areas  of 
Achill  Island  have  been  completely  altered  in  aspect  by  these  cutting 


274 


IRELAND 


operations.  Peat  is  a  sort  of  soggy  coal,  a  fuel  formed  of  the  rotting 
vegetation  of  the  dreary  bog-land  over  which  we  drive  for  many 
miles  —  the  road  itself  is  a  causeway  of  macadam  laid  upon  the 
springy  bog.  We  can  feel  the  highway  sag  and  shiver  as  our  light 
jaunting  car  passes  over  it,  and  as  we  walk  up  hill  behind  the  car  we 
see  the  tires  press  into  that  elastic  roadbed  as  into  a  rough  pavement 


A    HIGHWAY  IN  THE   EAST 


of  soft  rubber.    This  part  of  Ireland  is  indeed  "a  trembling  sod  " 

where  some  peat  beds  have  been  found  to  be  fifty  feet  in  depth. 
The  turf  when  dried  burns  readily  and  emits  that  pungent  odor 

that  clmgs  to  everything  in  rural  Ireland.  The  odor  of  peat  smoke 
*  most  agreeable  to  the  accustomed  nostril  and  one  whiff  of  it  will 
»njure  up  a  picture  of  an  Irish  peasant's  cot  with  the  inevitable 

Pile  of  peat  against  the  wall  and  the  good  wife  before  the  door  turn- 


IRELAND 


275 


A    HIGHWAY   IN    THE    WEST 


ing  the  old-time  Irish  wheel,  spinning  crude  yarn  from  the  new  wool 
prepared  by  the  old  mother  with  her  busy  carding  boards.  We  visit 
all  the  various  villages  of  Achill  Island,  driving  from  one  to  another 
along  the  open  winding  roads,  exchanging  many  a  greeting  with 
the  country  folk  who  rarely  fail  to  give  that  optimistic  Irish  greeting, 


276 


IRELAND 


"It's  a  foine  day."  Even  though  it  be  blowing  great  guns  or  rain- 
ing cats  and  dogs,  it's  always  a  "foine  day"  with  the  Irish.  Along 
the  way  we  met  a  countryman  who  looked  like  the  real  thing, 
course  he  said  "It's  a  foine  day."  "It  is,  it  is,"  we  answered  in  our 
newly  acquired  reiterative  brogue -I  defy  any  one  to  travel  along 
Irish  roads  and  talk  with  the  people  and  not  acquire  a  temporary 


THE  PEAT   BOGS   OF  ACHILL 


brogue;  you  feel  peculiar  and  pedantic  and  unpleasantly  superior  if 
you  continue  to  speak  in  your  usual  way. 

"Shure  and  it  is  a  foine  day,  it  is,  it  is,"  he  replied.  And  then 
he  began  to  question  us.  "And  what  may  be  your  country?"  This 
made  us  feel  that  our  brogue  was  not  thick  enough  to  disguise  us. 
"America  is  it?"  he  murmured,  "America?"  —  and  then,  with  a 
kindly,  patronizing  smile,  "And  how  is  it  a-gettin'  on?"  His  tone 


IRELAND 


277 


made  us  feel  that  America  was  about  as  big  as  Achill  Island  —  and 
about  twice  as  poor. 

On  one  of  those  wild  "foine  days"  that  are  characteristic  of 

Achill 's  stormy  clime  we  made 
our  way  on  horseback  to 
the  far  seaward  tip  of 
the    island,    along 
the  trails  beyond 
\     the     region     of 
real  roads.     We 
looked    down 
upon  mysterious 
little  beaches, 
sheltered  from  the 
Atlantic  gales  by  the 
broad  arms   of  Achill's 
stony  mountains.   We  climbed 
to  dizzy  ridges  that  overhung  the  raging 
sea  and  peered  down  through  the  flying  mist  at  scenes,  the  like  of 

•••••••••••••Han 


CUTTING    PEAT 


ON    THE    ISLE 
OF  ACHILL 


278 


IRELAND 


THE    PEAT   PILE   AND  THE  SPINNING  WHEEL 


which  no  camera  could  register;  we  watched  day  after  day  the 
angry  clouds  that  clung  and  circled  like  a  dark  menace  round  the 
summit  of  Slievemore,  that  heather-covered  hill  that  lifts  its  head 
two  thousand  two  hundred  feet  above  the  hamlet  of  Dugort,  where 

we  lodged  and  to  which  we  returned 
each    night    after    our    days    of 
most      delightful      wandering 
across  or   round  about  this 
Achill  Island,  which  seemed 
to  grow  each  day  more 
interesting    and    more 
wildly  beautiful.      We 
lodged    in    comfort  at 
a  little  inn   called  the 
"Sea  View   Hotel." 
We  noted  that 
in    every   vil- 


CHURCHWARD 


IRELAND 


279 


lage  near  the  sea  the  one  and  only  inn  was  always  called  the 
"Sea  View  Hotel."  If  there  were  a  second  inn,  it  was  sure  to 
be  "The  Mountain  View  Hotel."  At  Dugort  there  were  three 
inns.  We  dropped  in  one  day  at  the  third  inn  simply  to  find 
out  what  its  name  might  be.  The  name  was  —  and  why  not,  for 
it  looked  both  ways?  —  "The  Sea  and  Mountain  View  Hotel." 

There  were  only  two  other  guests  there  in  our  Sea  View  Hotel,  and 
every    day   there   came    and    went   two    or   three  strangers,   tour- 


SEA    VIEW  HOTEL 


ists  off  the  beaten  track,  who  never  would  stay  long  enough 
to  let  the  charm  of  Achill  get  on  them  the  solid  hold  it  had  on  us 
"old  settlers." 

With  Jack  McNally,  our  good  landlord's  son,  we  made  long  tours 
each  day  in  Jack's  new  jaunting  car.  He  took  us  to  the  distant  vil- 
lages and  introduced  us  to  all  his  friends  —  his  friends  comprising 
practically  the  entire  population.  At  his  request  we  photographed 


280 


IRELAND 


them  in  family  groups  and  promised  to  send  them  copies  of  the  pic- 
tures? for  them  to  send  to  their  relatives  over  in  America.  For  all 
had  relatives  either  in  Cleveland  or  Chicago.  One  matron,  Mrs. 


'GRINDING   MEAt 


IRELAND 


281 


PatMalloyofKeel, 
was  very  anxious 
that  a  picture  of 
her  kiddies  in  our 
car  should  be  seen 
by  their  emigrated 
uncle,  who  lived  in 
Chicago.  A  ticket 
— a  free  pass  "good 
for  two  best  seats" 
—  was  dispatched 
to  his  address. 
When  these  scenes 
were  first  projected 
at  the  Auditorium, 
"Uncle  Dennis" 
was  among  those 
present,  seeing  for  the  first  time  his  brother's  sturdy  Achill  babies. 
Our  jarvey,  Jack,  was  also  on  good  terms  with  the  Constabulary, 
and  the  squad  of  Irish  constables  at  Keel  turned  out  in  Sunday- 


THE    PATRICK   MALLOYS    OF   KEEL 


THE  KEEL  CONSTABULARY 


282 


IRELAND 


go-to-meeting  uniforms  to  face  the  fire  of  our  cameras.  Farther  on 
in  the  village  of  Dooagh  we  met  two  dear  old  irresponsibles  —  two 
broken-spirited  old  men,  who  had  become  —  one  through  a  mental, 
the  other  through  a  physical  infirmity  —  public  charges  on  the  vil- 
lage. "I'm  ashamed  to  tell  ye," 
said  the  one  with  a  beard, 
"that  I  had  a  chance  once. 
I  was  in  New  York 
once  and  I  could 
have  married  a  con- 
thractor's  daughter 
—  and  like  a  dam 
fool  I  come  back 


here."    The  other 
sad  faced  individ-    — 
ual  was  a  little 
out  of  his 
head.  He 

LIKEABLE  LADS 


IRELAND 


283 


A   FISHERMAN   S    HOME 


said  nothing,  he  merely  lifted  up  his  voice  to  join  his  fellow  in 
misfortune  in  a  sad  old  Irish  song,  the  refrain  of  which  was  "There's 
bound  to  be  a  row  —  there's  bound  to  be  a  row." 

Other  old  men  we 
saw  of  sturdier  frame 
and  mind  —  able  to 
work  and  working  lust- 
ily; one,  a  farmer,  as- 
sured us  that  he  had 
relatives  in  Cleveland 
and  Chicago,  and  cher- 
ished many  a  regret 
that  he  had  never  fol- 
lowed them.  And  in 
that  village  of  Dooagh 
we  found  the 
oldest  man 


TWO   OLD    BOYS 
OF   DOOAGH 


284 


IRELAND 


NEATNESS   AND  POVERTY 


in  Achill,    ninety-four  years   of   age,  hale 
eager  to  show  us  that  he  could  dance  an 


OF    STURDY    STOCK 


and  hearty  and  only  too 
Irish  jig  as  well,  if  not  a 
trifle  better  than  his 
seventy-seven-year  -old 
partner.  And  so  they 
called  the  village  fiddler 
forth,  cleared  the  main 
street,  and  the  two 
oldest  inhabitants  pro- 
ceeded to  trip  a  merry 
measure. 

The  poorest  of  the 
villages  is  on  the  south 
side  of  the  island,  and 
there  we  did  find  abject 
misery.  The  effects  of 
the  sad  years  of  the 
old  famine  days  were 


IRELAND 


285 


still  visible.  Dooega 
was  what  many  an 
Irish  village  was  at  one 
time  permitted  to  be- 
come— a  reproach  to 
civilization,  a  shameful 
proof  of  blundering 
misrule.  There  we 
were  bothered  by  beg- 
gars; nearly  every  soul 
in  town  demanding 
alms,  and  all  seemed  in 
sore  need  of  every  mis- 
erable penny  that  we 
gave.  Yet  native  Irish 
wit  had  not  been  dulled 
by  years  of  half -star- 
vation, for  when  I  gave  a  big  bright  penny  to  a  baby  in  its  mother's 
arms,  the  woman  said,  with  fine  assumption  of  aristocratic  scorn, 


ONE     WHO     STAVED     AT    HOME 


"MOVED  TO   CLEVELAND.  OHIO" 


286 


IRELAND 


"Choild,   luk  at  the   penny  the 
foine  gintleman  is  after  givin' 
ye"  —  the  contemptuous 
emphasis  she  put  upon 
the    "penny"     almost 
shaming   a    shilling 
out  of  me. 

In  another  vil- 
lage   we    saw    a 
face  that  seemed 
to  be  the  mirror  of 
COLLEENS  all  the  woes   of  Ireland 

—  the  features  drawn  with  suffering,  the  eyes  run  dry  of  tears, 
which  in  some  way  had  got  into  the  woman's  voice  —  for  as  she 
sang  she  made  us  see  a  lifetime  all  of  tears  — a  girlhood  of  the 


IRELAND 


287 


OF  THE   VILLAGE 


bitterest  poverty,  a  wifehood  of  starvation  and  a  motherhood  of 
agony;  at  the  woman's  breast  beneath  the  shawl  there  was  an 
ailing  child.  What  could  we  do  but  give  her  money;  not  in  charity, 
but  in  apologetic  cowardice,  because  we  had  full  stomachs,  and 

because  we  knew  that  if  we  and 
our    boasted    "intelligent 
class"  did  our  full,  hon- 
est duty  to  ourselves 
|&       and  to  the  world, 
|\      this  sort  of  mis- 
ery,   born    and 
bred   of   igno- 
rance and  of  in- 
justice,   would 
never  rise    to 
shame  us  as  it  does. 
When  we  remarked 
upon  the  fact    that  we 


EXCLUSIVENESS 


IRELAND 


year     in     harvest     season. 


met  chiefly  old  women  and  young 
children,  we  were  told  that 
ft.      all   the    sturdy  young  folk 
||V    were  away  in   Scotland, 
harvesting   the   crops  of 
Scottish    farmers,    do- 
ing in  Scotland  bet- 
ter work  than  the 
Scotch  labor- 
ers  can   do. 
Achill    Is- 
land, with  a 
population  of 
four  thousand, 
sends  an  industrious  army, 
including    one    ship-load    of     six 
hundred  girls,   to  Scotland  every 
They    and    their    brothers    bring 


IRISH    INDUSTRY 


IRELAND 


289 


back  the  hard  earned  money  that  keeps  the  children  and  the  old 
folks  in  food  and  fuel  during  the  long  hard  winter.  Nevertheless 
the  population  is  decreasing,  and  every  year  sees  more  and  more 

of  the  old 
cottages  de- 
serted. 

They     tell 
us  that  the 
former 


MARKET    DAY 


of  one 
abandon- 
ed cot- 
tage is 
now  a 
prosper- 
ous shoe- 
maker in 

Cleveland,  Ohio,  U.  S.   A.,  sending  back  money  to  his  relatives  in 
Achill.     Nor  is  this  sort  of  thing  confined  to  Achill  —  it  is  true  all 
over  Ireland.     In  1850  there  were  eight  million  Irishmen  in  Ireland, 
to-day    there 
are  about  four 
million  left,  the 
rest  are  mak- 
ing shoes  in 
Cleveland,  or 
bossing  the  traf- 
fic   in     New 
York,    to    say 
nothing  of  the 
more  impor- 
tant   matters 


THE    HII.LSIDH 
HERMIT 


IRELAND 

290 

bossed  by  the  Irish  in  all  the  greater  cities  of  "the  land  of  the  free 
and  the  home  of  the  brave." 

From  Achill  we  make  our  way  southward  and  westward  into  the 

land  of  Con- 
scenic  wonder-  

Our  Con- 


KYLEMORE    CASTLE 


nemara  tour  merits  a  travelogue  all  for  itself,  for  the  interior  of 
Connemara  is  an  Irish  Switzerland,  and  the  coast  region  of  Con- 
nemara  is  an  Irish  Norway.  We  found  in  Connemara  perfect  roads, 
impressive  mountains,  alpine  lakes,  trout  streams,  and  waterfalls  — 
and,  most  important  from  the  tourist's  point  of  view,  a  chain  of 
excellent  hotels.  We  saw  what  savage  Nature  had  done  to  help 
us  realize  our  dreams  of  scenic  grandeur,  and  in  the  midst  of 
this  wild  country  we  came  upon  a  place  where  gentle  Art  had  set 
a  fairy  castle  in  a  frame  of  beauty,  as  if  to  prove  that  dreams  of 


IRELAND 


291 


PURCHASED     BY   THE    DUKE     OF    MANCHESTER 


a  real  paradise  on  earth  sometimes  come  true.  That  paradise  is 
Kylemore  Castle,  now  the  Irish  country-seat  of  the  Duke  of 
Manchester  —  one  of  the  most  exquisite  examples  of  castle  archi- 
tecture in  the  world,  ideally  situated  on  the  slope  of  a  grim  green 
Connemara  mountain,  overlooking  the  lovely  little  lake  that  mir- 
rors the  surrounding  heights. 


IRELAND 


THE    TREATY   STONE 


Of  course  we  did  not 
fail  to  visit  Limerick  on  the 
Shannon  River.  Limerick  merits 
more  time  and  more  pictures  than 
we  can  give  to  it,  and  so  in  fact  does  every  town  that  we  have 


IRELAND 


293 


IN     LIMERICK    TOWN 


touched ;  but  there  are  so  many  sights  to  see  in  Ireland  that  we  may 
not  always  tarry  where  we  would. 

Among  the  holy  sites  in  Ireland  none  is  dearer  to  the  pious  pa- 
triot than  the  great  Rock  of  Cashel  in  County  Tipperary.  A  holy  place 
it  has  been  for  a  thousand  years  and  more,  in  spite  of  the  tradition 


294 


IRELAND 


THE  ROCK  OF    CASHEL 


concerning  the  infernal  origin  of  the  rock  itself.  Ask  any  old-time 
Tipperary  man  how  it  came  there,  and  he  will  tell  you  how  long  years 
ago  the  devil  took  a  big  bite  ou 
the  crest  of  a  neighboring  ran 
of  mountains,  and  how  finding  the 
mouthful  very  dry  and  tough 
he  spat  it  out  upon  the  floor 
of  Ireland's  fairest  valley.  1 
In  proof  of  this  they  show 
you  this  isolated  Rock  of 
Cashel,  and  a  great  gap  in 
the  skyline  of  a  mountain 
several  miles  away.  The 
buildings  on  the  rock  are  in 
many  ways  remarkable. 
There  is  a  beautiful  cathedral, 
beautifully  ruined,  a  castle  ad- 
mirably fallen  to  decay  and 

IN    THE     VALE    OF    TIPPERARY 


IRELAND 


295 


little  Norman  church,  known  as  King  Cormac's  Chapel.  There  is,  of 
course,  an  Irish  tower,  round  as  a  rod  and  wonderfully  well  preserved, 
and  there  are  Irish  crosses,  one  so  old  and  worn  that  it  is  nearly 
formless;  and  there  is  also  a  modern  copy  of  an  ancient  cross  that  shows 
us  what  those  splendid  monuments  were  like  before  the  tooth  of  time 


NOT  A    LONG  WAY  TO  TIPPERARY 


had  gnawed  into  their  quaintly  cut  designs.  And  round  about  there 
is  a  view  unrivaled  in  its  verdant  richness,  for  from  this  height  we 
look  out  on  the  Golden  Vale  of  Tipperary,  as  sweet  a  vale  as  green 
grass  ever  grew  in.  In  this  rich  valley  lies  the  celebrated  "Golden 
Vein"  of  Irish  soil  —  the  richest  and  most  fertile  in  all  Ireland. 
Across  this  vale  we  drive  northward  a  few  miles  to  Holy  Cross  where 
stands  the  finest  ruined  abbey  in  all  Ireland.  Tis  hard  to  say  who 
was  the  greater  artist,  the  architect  who  builded  Holy  Cross,  or  Father 
Time  who  has  so  artistically  pulled  it  down  and  flung  about  its  crumb- 
ling walls  and  tower  a  mantle  of  royal  Irish  green.  Its  abbots  used 


2Q6 


IRELAND 


to  sit  as  peers  in  Irish  Parliament,  its  wealth  was  boundless  and  its 
sanctity  of  world-wide  fame,  for  here  at  Holy  Cross  there  was  pre- 
served a  piece  of  the  True  Holy  Cross  presented  by  Pope  Pascal  the 
Second,  800  years  ago.  That  precious  bit  of  wood  has  long  since 
disappeared,  but  the  minutely  groined  roof  of  the  little  chapel,  where 


THE  ABBEY  OF  HOLY  CROSS 


the  relic  was  preserved  and  reverenced  for  centuries,  still  remains  to 
delight  those  who  appreciate  an  exquisite  example  of  old-time  ecclesi- 
astic art. 

But  for  the  terse  telling  of  our  tale  we  linger  too  long  here.  We 
must  press  on,  we  have  a  train  to  catch  —  and  such  a  train !  !  —  the 
queerest,  most  absurd,  most  utterly  outlandish  train  that  we  have 
ever  seen.  Its  name,  too,  is  appropriately  outlandish;  it  is  the 
"Ballybunnion  Mono-Rail  Express."  It  runs  from  a  station  on  the 
ordinary  line  to  Ballybunnion,  about  ten  miles  away  on  the  Atlantic 
Coast.  It  runs  upon  a  single  elevated  rail,  a  mono-rail,  astride  of 
which  a  double  locomotive,  or  rather  one  shaped  like  a  pair  of  bloomers, 


IRELAND 


297 


CHAPEL  OF  THE  TRUE  CROSS 


hauls  a  train  of  cars  that  likewise  ride  the  mono-rail  on  wheels  which 
are  concealed  in  the  long  slot  with  which  the  Ballybunnion  Limited 
is  slit  from  stem  to  stern.  To  enable  passengers  to  cross  over  to  the 


THE    BRIDGE    OF    LISDOONVARNA 


298 


IRELAND 


AN  IRISH  EXPRESS 


compartments  on  the  other  side,  there  is  one  car  that  is  nothing  but 

a  sort  of  stile  like  those  by  means  of  which  one  gets  over  fences  in  the 

country.      The 

track  itself  is  like 

a  metal  fence,  ten 

miles    in    length. 

The  line  is  spanned 

by  bridges  with  a 

double  draw   that 

can   be   let  down 

by     the    peasants 

when  they  wish  to 

drive  their  carts  or 

cows  across. 

The  speed  of  this 
peculiar  railway, 
although  not  sur- 
passing seven  miles 
an  hour,  neverthe- 
less exceeds  that  of 
the  only  competing 


AT   A     STATION 


IRELAND 


299 


conveyances   in    the   form    of    tiny    two-wheeled    carts   drawn  by 
donkeys,  driven  by  dignified  old  dames. 

We  ask  the  meaning  of  the  prefix  " Bally,"  which  occurs  so  often 
in  the  names  of  towns  and  places.  They  tell  us  that  "Bally"  means 
simply  a  piece  of  building  land,  to  distinguish  any  bit  of  solid  ground 


THE  BALLYBUNNION    LIMITED 


from   the   surrounding   bog. 
We  find  on  looking  at 
the    index    of  our 
guide  book  the 
following 
"Bally"places: 
Ballybay, 
Ballybeg,  Bal- 
lybofey,  Bally- 
bogan,  Ballyde- 
hob,  Ballygalley, 
Ballygawley,    Bally- 

A    BRIDGE  OVER  THE    MONO-RAIL  LINE 


300 


IRELAND 


THE  DOUBLE  CARS  AND  THE  STILE 


hack,  Ballyhaise,  Ballyhaunis,  Ballyholme,  Ballyhooley,  Ballymoney, 
Ballymoon,  Ballymurry,  Ballyragget,  Ballyroney,  Ballyvoy,  and  so 
on  for  three  columns,  including  that  most  fascinating  of  all  the 
Bally  combinations,  Ballycorus! 

Another  day  we  find  ourselves  upon  the  very  Occidental  edge  of 
Ireland,  peering  down  upon  the  deep  Atlantic  from  the  summit  of 
the  colossal  wall  formed  by  the  Cliffs  of  Moher.  Precipices  rise  a 
sheer  six  hundred  feet  from  water-line  to  sky-line,  harboring  millions 


THE    TURNTABLE 


IRELAND 


of  sea  birds,   whose 
rasping  cries  drown 
the  dull  surging   of 
the  waves  and  lend 
a  most  uncanny  aw- 
fulness  to  these  dead 
walls.    There  on  the 
summit  of   the  cliff 
we  see  what  seems 
an    old    baronial 
castle  and  we  won- 
der what   rich   and 
happy  noble  dwells 
on  this  noble  height 
and     looks    out 
every    day    upon 
this    noble    view.   '• 
With     envious 
steps  we  make  our 
way  along   the   brink 


toward  that  superb- 
ly perched  chateau, 
hoping  perchance 
to  find  the  lord 
and  lady    of 
the  manor 
on  the  ter- 
race   sur- 
veying this 
glorious 
estate  of  earth 


COMPETING   CONVEYANCES 


302 


IRELAND 


and  sea  and  sky.  But  we  found  upon  the  threshold  not  just  the 
sort  of  group  that  we  had  pictured!  A  small  herd  of  cows  was 
placidly  ruminating  there.  Sadly  we  turned  away  from  the  old 
O'Brian  Tower,  now  become  the  "Castle  of  the  Cows,"  for  we  were 
sad  to  think  that  men  would  let  these  beauty-blind  and  unappreci- 


THE    CLIFFS    OF  MOHER 


IRELAND 


303 


THE  WIDE    ATLANT 


ative  brutes  usurp  for   their    dull,   uninspired   uses,    so  glorious   a 
site  —  one  fit  for  the  castle  of  an  artist  or  a  king. 

Cliff  after  cliff  receding  in  the  gathering  haze  lead  our  eyes  and 
thoughts  southward  toward  a  still  more  fit  abode  for  those  who 


THE   CASTI.E  OF  THE  COWS 


IRELAND 

3°4 

worship  beauty  as  expressed  in  scenic  form  -  toward  that  region 
of  ideal  natural  loveliness  whither  our  steps  instinctively  have  long 
been  trending  and  to  which  they  soon  will  bring  us,  for  it  is  time  f 
us  to  look  upon   Killarney- "Heaven's  Reflex,  Beauty's  Home.' 
Every  lover  of  the  beautiful  longs  to  find  himself  upon  the  road 
that  leads  to  Killarney,  and  we  rejoice  at  sight  of  the  guide  post  which 
informs  us  that  we  are  within  three  and  a  half  miles  of  that  famous 

place.     The  name,  in 
the  old  Gaelic  tongue, 
Cill-Arneadh,    means 
"the    Church    of    the 
Sloes,"  and  the  sloes  of 
course  are  the  famous 
blackthorn  bushes  that 
grow  and  flower  nearly 
everywhere  in  Ireland. 
So    toward    Killarnev 
town    we    hasten    on, 
turning  aside  soon  from 
the  dusty  public  road 
to   follow    the    perfect 
private  pathways  that 
lead  across  the  rich  de- 
mesne  of  the   Earl  of 
Kenmare,    who     owns 
one  of  the  loveliest  of 
the  huge  estates   that 
border  upon  and  practically  encircle  the  famous  lakes  that  we  have 
come  to  see.     We  learn  to  our  surprise  that  the  shores  of  Killarney 
are  practically  all  private  property,  and  that  tourists  are  compelled 
to  pay  an  admission  fee  before  they  can  enter  the  grounds  of  these 
magnificent  estates  and  look  upon  the  lakes  from  the  most  advan- 
tageous points  of  view.     As  we  enter  the  park  of  the  Earl   of   Ken- 
mare  a  very  pretty  girl  comes  forth  from  a  very  pretty  house  and 


NAMES   WE   KNOW 


IRELAND 


305 


HEAVEN  S  REFLEX 


very  prettily  demands  two  pretty  little  sixpences.  We  part  with 
them  willingly  —  with  her  regretfully.  The  little  lodge  within  which 
she  promptly  disappears  is  one  of  the  neatest,  sweetest  little  dwell- 
ings we  have  ever  seen.  It  is  supposed  to  be  merely  a  peasant 
cottage,  but,  were  all  cottages  like  this,  "love  in  a  cottage"  would 


GOINU  TO  KIU.ARNEY 


306 


IRELAND 


take  on  a  long  new  lease  of  life.  Thus  ere  we  have  been  five 
minutes  within  the  gates  of  this  ideal  estate  we  have  had  a 
royal  shillings-worth  of  beauty,  and  after  we  have  passed  through 
the  well-groomed  region  near  the  modern  castle  of  the  Earl, 
which  we  are  not  permitted  to  approach,  we  enter  a  wilder  and  even 
more  beautiful  region  where  we  drive  on  as  through  a  forest.  The 


LODGEKEEPER'S  COTTAGE  AT  THE  GATES  OF  THE  EARL  o 


P KENMARE 


roadway  is  over-arched  by  noble  trees,  tall,  pale,  and  ghostly  trees, 
suggesting  a  company  of  arboreal  greybeards  assembled  as  in  some 
great  ancestral  council  to  discuss  the  future  of  their  race,  to  make 
laws  for  the  welfare  of  the  younger  trees,  whose  task  it  will  be  to  keep 
Ireland  young  and  green;  for  without  trees  a  land  grows  quickly  old 
oses  its  beauty,  and  its  charm -born  of  youthful  freshness  - 
shows  its  wrinkles,  withers,  wearies,  and  becomes  a  wilderness 

But  no  such  fate  will  come  to  Ireland  in  our  time.     She  seems  a 


IRELAND 


307 


land  blessed  with  perennial  youth,  and  everlasting  youth  means  ever- 
lasting beauty.  Even  the  scarred  old  ruins  of  Ross  Castle  are  re- 
juvenated at  the  verdant  touch  of  Irish  nature.  The  blood  of  spring, 
and  the  hot  blood  of  young  summer,  seems  to  fill  the  stony  veins  of 
Ireland's  ancient  masonry,  causing  her  castles  to  put  forth  leaves,  to 
burst  into  a  verdurous  life,  to  blossom  like  an  emerald-petalled  rose. 
Ross  Castle  that  looks  out  upon  Killarney,  is  not  dead,  it  lives  and 

blossoms    every    year, 
like  Ireland's  hopes  and 
i  I   Ireland's  aspirations. 

We  enter  presently 
another  pretty  lake- 
side park  —  one  that 
for  the  time  being  is 
our  own,  for  it  belongs 
to  the  Lake  Hotel  — 
and  the  hotel  of  course 
belongs  to  us,  so  long 
as  we  continue  to  pay 
our  weekly  bills.  On 
arrival  we  encounter 
our  first  thoroughbred 
Irish  "bull."  Not  find- 
ing an  expected  letter, 
I  ask  the  Irish  porter 
when  the  next  mail 
will  be  in.  "It's  in, 
sir!"  says  the  porter. 

Much  of  the  charm 
of  a  lake  vista  depends 
on  an  effective  fore- 
ground, and  in  this 
respect  the  vista  of 
Lough  Leane,  from  the 


GRAND  OLD   TREES 


3o8 


IRELAND 


threshold  of  the  Lake  Hotel  is  undeniably  supreme.  In  the  foreground 
lies  a  tiny  island,  upon  it  a  low  remnant  of  ruined  castle  and  two  trees 
that  are  as  artistic  in  outline  as  the  picturesque  trees  of  old  Japan. 
A  narrow  causeway  leads  out  to  that  island,  Killarney's  waters  beat 


THE  LAKE  HOTEL 


IRELAND 


309 


against  it  softly,  Killarney's  mountains,  crowned  with  purple  heather, 
rise  beyond  it,  Killarney's  sky  domes  it  with  glory  —  and  we  echo 
once  again  the  words  of  that  sweet  song  in  which  the  poet  character- 
izes Killarney  as  "Heaven's  Reflex, 
Beauty's  Home." 

Now  that    we  see 
the   beauty  of   this 
region   we    know 
why  Killarney,  of 
all  the  lovely  sites 
in  Ireland,  is  the 
best   beloved  - 
why  tourists  come 
Wr     by  thousands  every 
year  to  gaze  upon  this 
lake  and  carry  with  them 
when  they  go  away  a  precious 
memory  of  alluring  scenic  charm 
that  will  give  them  joy  so  long  as  they  shall  live. 


ALMOST  JAPANESE    It 


LOUGH  LKANE 


3io 


IRELAND 


In  contrast  to  the  soft  loveliness  of  the  Killarney  shores  is  the 
almost  Norwegian  grandeur  and  grimness  of  the  Gap  of  Dunloe.  In 
it  lies  a  lifeless  lake,  the  very  lake  in  which  St.  Patrick  drowned  the 


BEAUTY    S  HOME 


last  of  all  the  snakes.  The  Gap  of  Dunloe  is  a  place  of  singular  bar- 
renness, bounded  by  granite  walls  of  Purple  Mountain  on  one  side, 
and  on  the  other  by  the  highest  range  of  peaks  in  Ireland,  bearing  a 
most  unpoetic  name,  "McGillicuddy's  Reeks."  The  extreme  alti- 
tude attained  is  only  a  trifle  over  thirty-four  hundred  feet.  Our 
path  winds  up  out  of  this  gloomy  gap  of  grey,  crosses  a  wind-swept 
pass  and  then  winds  down  into  a  pretty  paradise  of  green  where  we 
come  again  under  the  magic  spell  of  the  beauty  of  Killarney.  But 
this  beauty  of  grassy  slope  and  silvery  lake,  pellucid  sky  and  the  soft 
inviting  outlines  of  all  things,  is  a  sort  of  beauty  that  lends  itself  but 
ill  to  photographic  reproduction.  Killarney's  beauty  must  be  felt, 
and  to  feel  it  one  must  come  down  from  the  heights  and  touch  one 


IRELAND  311 

by  one,  with  the  finger  of  actual  experience,  Killarney's  manifold  per- 
fections, each  one  of  which  is  capable  of  giving  us  a  thrill  of  purest 
pleasure.  One  of  these  thrills  of  pleasure  comes  to  us  as  we  look  for 
the  first  time  upon  the  "Meeting  of  the  Waters,"  where  the  overflow 
of  the  island-dotted  upper  lake  comes  swirling  under  the  old  Weir 
Bridge  and  down  a  narrow  channel  banked  with  verdure  and  brim- 


ming with  the  exuberance  of  the  rainstorm  that  has  come  and  gone 
as  quickly  as  if  the  gust  of  water  had  been  instead  a  gust  of  wind. 
On  that  brimming  tide  the  tourist-laden  boats  come  gliding  from 
the  upper  lake,  and  guided  by  the  boatman  in  the  bow  they  slip 
beneath  the  old  Weir  Bridge,  plunge  through  the  short  safe  rapids 
and  then  are  borne  along,  as  through  a  forest,  to  the  Meeting  of  the 
Waters,  where  the  thrilled  and  happy  strangers  step  ashore. 


3I2 


IRELAND 


Killarneyis  not  a  region  for  the  traveler  to  hurry  through;  it  is 
a  place  for  leisurely  sojourn,  for  a  long  idle  holiday,  composed  of  days 
filled  with  no  sterner  duty  than  the  call  to  see  the  sunset,  or  to  con- 
template the  moonlight  on  the  lake.  If  only  we  had  time  for  all  we 
want  to  do,  we  could  afford  to  do  industriously  that  most  delightful 
of  all  things,  nothing  -  nothing  but  wander  as  we  list  through  some 


THE  OLD  WEIR   BRIDGE 


such  earthly  paradise  as  that  through  which  we  must   now   pass 
hurriedly  in  driving  from  Killarney  to  Glengariff. 

Of  Glengariff  it  must  suffice  to  say  that  it  is  one  of  the  most 
exquisite  spots  in  Ireland.  To  tell  in  worthy  words  of  the  beauty- 
spots  of  Ireland  one  needs  must  have  a  tongue  of  silver  and  a  poet's 
soul  —  or  at  least  one  should  have  reverently  performed  that  elo- 
quence-inspiring ceremony  —  the  kissing  of  the  Blarney  Stone.  It 
is  perhaps  too  late  for  me  to  call  that  famous  stone  to  my  assistance, 


IRELAND 


but  even  so,  no  tour  in  Ireland  can  be  called  complete  if  it  does  not 
include  a  visit  to  the  ruined  tower  that  bears  the  name  of  Blarney 
Castle  and  is  reached  so  easily  by  jaunting  car  from  Cork. 


BETWEEN  THE  PURPLE   MOUNTAIN    AND  M  GILUCUDDY  S   REEKS 


IRELAND 

The  actual  location 
of  the  Blarney  Stone 
had  always  been  to  us 
a  mystery.  No  photo- 
graphs have  ever  given 
us  a  correct  impression 
as  to  the  exact  position 
of  that  gift -of -gab- 
giving  slab  of  stone. 
The  only  way  to  see  it 
clearly  is  to  stand  near 
the  base  of  the  tower 
and  look  up.  The 
Blarney  Stone  forms  the 
bottom  edge  of  the  pro- 
jecting parapet.  It  is  marked  by  two  bands  of  rusty  metal,  two  rods 
which  the  would-be  oscillators  used  to  grip  with  both  hands  to  steady 
themselves  as  they  were  lowered  by  the  heels  over  the  top  stone  of  the 


SELLING    MOUNTAIN   DEW 


IN  THE  GAP   OF    DUNI.OE 


IRELAND 


GLENGARIFF 


parapet.  This  very  risky  practice  has  been  discontinued.  The 
kissers  of  to-day  must  be  content  to  be  let  .down  through  the  opening 
between  the  parapet  and  the  main  wall,  their  faces  outward,  so  that 


AN    IRISH   BEAUTY    SPOT 


3i6 


IRELAND 


the  lips  touch  only  the  inner  angle  of  the  stone.  Yet  even  this  is 
very  dangerous;  one  careless  osculator  let  go  and  was  let  go  of,  but 
in  some  miraculous  way  he  lit  lightly  among  the  heavy  branches  of 
the  trees  which  broke  his  fearful  fall,  and  reached  the  ground  with 
his  bones  unbroken  —  and  his  kiss  unkissed. 

From  the  ramparts  of  old  Blarney  Castle  we  look  down  on  modern 


BLARNEY    CASTLE 


Blarney  Castle  and  off  at  the  green  hills  of  County  Cork.  Mean- 
time our  fellow-tourists  one  by  one  lie  flat  upon  their  backs  on  the 
pavement,  take  hold  of  two  metal  rods,  on  the  inner  side  of  the  para- 
pet, and  then  with  their  heels  and  legs  held  firmly  by  their  friends, 
they  let  their  hands  glide  down  the  rods  until  their  lips  are  on  a  level 
with  the  surface  of  the  stone  that  has  been  exquisitely  polished  by 
the  pressure  of  the  many  lips  that  have  sought  here  the  gift  of  elo- 
quence. 'Tis  strange  indeed  that  men  will  go  to  all  this  risk  and 


IRELAND 


ATOP  THE  TOWER 


trouble  merely  to  press  their  lips  to  unresponsive  stone.  And  yet 
we  know  that  when  it  comes  to  kissing,  there  is  no  risk,  however  great, 
that  man  (especially  an  Irish-man)  will  not  most  willingly  incur. 

Once  as  a  would-be  kisser  was  seen  to  hesitate,  an  Irishman  in- 
quired, "Are  you  afraid?"  "I  am."  "Well  no  man  that's  afeared 
ought  to  go  a'kissing.  All  kissing  should  be  done  sudden;  when  you 
hesitate  it's  serious!  Make  way  for  the  young  lady,  she's  not  afraid!" 

No  man  knows  from  what  day  or  incident  dates  the  curious  tradition 


LOOKING  UP  AT  THE    BLARNEY    STONE 


8  IRELAND 

that  attributes  to  the  "real  stone"  the  power  of  "endowing  whoever 
kisses  it  with  the  sweet  persuasive,  wheedling  eloquence  so  perceptible 
in  the  language  of  the  Cork  people  and  which  is  generally  termed 
'Blarney.'  This  is  the  true  meaning  of  the  word,  and  not,  as  some 
writers  have  supposed,  a  faculty  of  deviating  from  veracity  with  an 
unblushing  countenance  whenever  it  may  be  convenient."  The  poets 
. .^__^_____ 


READY  TO  KISS   THE    BLARNEY    STONE 


are  not  quite  so  sure  that  the  "deluderin  talk"  of  the  inspired  oscula- 
tors  is  absolutely  free  from  guile;  these  well-known  lines  suggest 

otherwise : 

"There  is  a  stone  there  that  whoever  kisses, 
Oh!  he  never  misses  to  grow  eloquent. 
Tis  he  may  clamber  to  a  lady's  chamber 
Or  become  Member  of  Parliament. 
A  clever  spouter  he'll  sure  turn  out.  or 
An  out  and  outer  to  be  let  alone ! 
Don't  hope  to  hinder  him  or  to  bewilder  him 
Sure  he's  a  pilgrim  from  the  Blarney  Stone." 

Queen  Elizabeth  has  been  credited  with  the  earliest  use  of  the 
word  Blarney  in  its  now  recognized  sense.     She  had  summoned  to 


IRELAND 


court  the  famous  Cormac,  builder  of  Blar- 
ney Castle  and  scion  of  the  -princely 
race  of  the  McCarthys,  Lords  of  Mus- 
kerry,  Barons  of  Blarney  and  Earls  of 
Clancarty,  that  she  might  force  him 
to  relinquish   certain    privileges.     He 
promised  with  fair  words  to  come  - 
and  came  not.     With  more  fair  words 
he  continued  to  fail  to  come  to  London 
—  or    to    the   point;    whereupon    the 
Virgin  Queen  declared :   "This  is 
all  Blarney  —  what  he  says  he 
never  means." 

From  Blarney  Castle  we 
drive  back  to  the  neighbor- 
ing city  of  Cork,  the  metrop- 
olis of  the  South.  We  are 
agreeably  impressed  by  the 


noble  buildings,  the 
artistic  churches, 
the  broad  and  well- 
paved  streets,  the 
excellent  hotel,  and, 
finer  than  all  else,  the 
lovely  views  of  Cork 
from  the  surrounding 
heights. 

The  Irish  name 
Corrach  or  Corcagh 
means  "swamp"  and 


KISSING    THE    BLARNEY   STONE 


320 


IRELAND 


we  read  with  interest  this  word  picture  of  the  place  and  its  people 

as  they  were  in  1577: 

"On  the  land  side  they  are  encumbered  with  evil  neighbors — the  Irish  out- 
laws, that  they  are  fain  to  watch  their  gates  hourlie,  to  keep  them  shut  at  service 
time,  and  at  meals,  from  sun  to  sun,  nor  suffer  anie  stranger  to  enter  the  citie  with 
his  weapon,  but  the  same  to  leave  at  a  lodge  appointed.  They  walk  out  at  seasons 
for  recreation  with  power  of  men  furnished.  They  trust  not  the  country  adjoin 
ing,  but  match  in  wedlocke  among  themselves  onlie,  so  that  the  whole  citie  is 
well  nigh  linked  one  to  the  other  in  affinitie." 


THE    RIVER   LEE   IN   CORK 


And  it  is  in  Cork  that  we  hear  those  bells  of  which  Father  Prout 
has  sung  — 

"With  deep  affection  and  recollection 

I  often  think  on  those  Shandon  bells, 
Whose  sound  so  wild  would  in  the  days  of  childhood 
Hmg  round  my  cradle  their  magic  spells. 
On  this  I  ponder  where'er  I  wander 

^nd  thus  grow  fonder  Sweet  Cork  of  thee 
With  thy  bells  of  Shandon  that  sound  so  grand  on 

I  he  pleasant  waters  of  the  river  Lee." 


IRELAND 


321 


With  their  music  in  our  ears  it  is  with  a 
shock  that  we  come  upon  this  prosaic  entry 
in  the  old  Council  Book  of  the  Corpora- 
tion of  Cork  —  under   the  date  of  May 

1 8,  1749— 

That     100    guineas     be     paid    Mr.    Fran. 
Carleton    and   Mr.    Riggs    Falkener    towards 
a   ring   of  bells  to  be  put  up  in  the   Steple 
of    St.  Ann's   Church,    in  the  Parish  of  S. 
Mary  Shandon,  in  Corke,  to  be  paid  in  three 
months  from  the  date  hereof. 

Even  more  beautiful  than  that   of 
Cork   is   the  situation   of  Queenstown, 
the  neighboring  port. 

But  it  is  not  to  enjoy  the  glorious 
vistas  of  this  harbor,  that  post-war  trav- 
elers come  to  Queenstown;  rather  is  it  to 
look  with  tear-dimmed,  outraged  eyes  at  the 
graves  of  the  men  and  women  and  children,  "foully  murdered  by 
Germany"  as  the  tombstones  tell  us  —  murdered  in  cold  blood  — 
sent  to  a  sudden  terrible  death  in  the  deep  by  the  pirate  craft  that 


QUEENSTOWN 


322 


IRELAND 


flew  the  flags  of  von  Tirpitz  and  William  the  Second -and  the 
Last.  The  cowardly  torpedo  which  destroyed  the  Lusitania  also 
destroyed  the  empire  of  the  Hohenzollerns. 

From  Queenstown  and  the  sunny  South  of  Ireland  we  make  our 
way  to  Belfast  and  the  grim  rocky  north  coast  of  the  Emerald  Isle. 
Belfast,  the  great  industrial  city  of  the  North,  boasts  a  population 


ROYAL  AVENUE,   BELFAST 


as  large  if  not  larger  than  that  of  Dublin  —  if  we  add  to  the  urban 
population  of  each  city,  that  of  the  suburbs  and  environs.  In  com- 
mercial importance  Belfast  is  the  first  of  Irish  cities.  The  city  of 
"the  loom,  the  linen  and  the  liner"  has  given  to  the  world  the  finest  of 
flax  products  and  the  fastest  floating  palaces  of  the  trans-Atlantic 
fleets.  It  has  not  the  antiquity  of  Dublin.  It  is  a  strictly  modern 
city.  At  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  it  was  a  mere 
town.  To-day  it  is  a  city  of  four  hundred  thousand.  The  mag- 


IRELAND 


323 


nificent  new  City  Hall,  occupying  the  site  of  the  old  Linen  Hall,  in 
Donegall  Square,  was  completed  only  in  1906.  Before  the  entrance 
is  a  statue  of  Queen  Victoria  and  surrounding  it  on  three  sides  is  a 
garden  that  adds  much  to  its  dignity.  Seen  from  the  Royal  Avenue, 
its  great  copper  dome  towering  above  the  city  streets  and  the  massive 


THE     CITY    HALL 


324 


IRELAND 


ALONG  THE  DOCKS 


YORK   STREET   LINEN    MILL 


IRELAND 


325 


bulk  of  the  building  effectually  blocking  the  end  of  Donegall  Place, 
the  City  Hall  ••••••••••  strikes    the 


THE    CITY    H 


dominant  note  in  the  architectural  aspect 
of    Belfast    and  presents    the    picture 
most    clearly    remembered    by    the 
traveler.     But  to  the  traveler,   un- 
less he  chances  to  be  a  practically 
minded  business  man,  Belfast  is  to 
Dublin  what  Glasgow  in  Scotland 
is    to    Edinburgh — the  rival   city 
that  offers  comparatively  little  to 
detain  him. 

It  is  interesting  to  recall  that 
the    name  "Belfast,"   derived  from 
the  old  Gaelic  words  "Beal  na  far- 
sad,"  means  "Mouth   of  the  Ford." 

Beyond    Belfast   begins    a   wonder- 
land   of    scenic    charm    that    lures 


THE  ALBKRT  MEMORIAL 


326 


IRELAND 


the  lover  of  the  glory  of  the  out-of-doors  northward  along  the 
Antrim  Coast.  We  "did"  this  wonderland  not  by  motor,  but  by 
jaunting  car -as  it  should  be  done.  For  three  days  we  jaunted 
slowly  along  a  road  that  ran  between  the  Irish  mountains  and  the 
waters  of  the  channel  beyond  which  may  be  seen  from  time  to  time 
the  shores  of  Scotland. 

Marvellous  things  amaze  and  charm  the  traveler  at  every  turn. 


THE    ANTRIM   COAST 


He  peers  through  windows  worn  in  the  chalky  walls  or  tall  pointed 
arches  cut  in  the  red  sandstone  cliffs  and  framing  vistas  of  a  gentle 
summer  sea.  A  mere  list  of  all  the  things  worth  looking  at  along  the 
way  would  more  than  fill  our  pages,  therefore  we  may  not  even 
specify  the  many  promontories,  bays  and  beaches,  mountains,  glens, 
and  valleys,  castles,  villages,  and  towers  that  diversify  our  days.  Nor 
may  we  dwell  upon  the  dreary  stretches  of  almost  Siberian  monotony 


IRELAND 


327 


that  by  their  very 
contrast  add  even 
more  diversity  to 
the  catalogue  of 
most  enjoyable  ex- 
periences. Even 
the  boggy  wilder- 
ness is  for  a  time 
enjoyable  and  we 
know  that  every 
mile  of  bog-land 
that  we  cover 
brings  us  nearer  to  the  interesting  sights  that  lie 
beyond — nearer  to  the  glorious  seacoast  from  which  our  road  has 
turned  aside  to  cut  across  the  broad  neck  of  some  peninsula. 

To  get  the  best  of  scenic  Ireland  the  traveler  should  cling  as  closely 
as  he  can  to  the  magnificent  seacoast.    Thus  he  will  see  in  turn,  each 

•BOH    of  those  glorious  headlands  — 
those  natural  bastions,  thrown 
out  as  if  to  check  the  fury  of 
'    the   waves,    but    in    reality 


A    WINDOW    LOOKINO    SEAWARD 


THE    ROAD    FLOWS   ON 


3*8 


IRELAND 


created  by  the  waves.  The  many  superb  headlands  are  merely 
what  is  left  of  low  softly  rounded  hills  of  which  the  greater  part  has 
been  eaten  away  by  the  insatiable  ocean.  Literally,  the  sea  is  grad- 
ually consuming  Ireland,  eagerly  eating  up  this  most  delicious  morsel 
of  the  crust  of  earth.  We  can  see  where  the  teeth  of  the  sea  have 
bitten  out  gigantic  mouthfuls  of  the  coast,  leaving  the  tougher  and 
more  resisting  corners  to  be  slowly  nibbled  at  from  time  to  time. 
Of  these  resisting  sections  of  the  shore  the  most  marvellous  and 


THE   GIANT  S  CAUSEWAY 


the  most  impressive  is  the  Giant's  Causeway  on  the  northern  coast. 
Our  first  impression  is  that  the  Causeway  has  been  overpraised,  for 
the  approach  promises  very  little,  and  when  in  answer  to  our  question 
"where  £?  the  Causeway?"  some  one  replies:  "That's  it,  right  there! 
the  low  flat  rocky  point  extending  seaward  from  that  little  house!" 
we  are  tempted  to  turn  back  and  to  proclaim  the  Giant's  Causeway 
a  gigantic  fraud.  Thackeray  himself  exclaimed  when  he  first  beheld 
it:  "Good  God,  have  I  come  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  see  that/!" 


IRELAND 


329 


But  when  from  the  top  of  the  tall  cliff  we  look  directly  down  upon 
it  we  begin  to  appreciate  it  and  to  understand  why  this  strange  tongue 
of  land  is  called  a  causeway.  It  appears  like  a  portion  of  a  path  or 
road  extending  seaward  —  a  path  of  which  the  greater  part  is  now 
submerged,  the  other  end  of  which  comes  to  the  surface  off  the  coast 
of  Scotland  eighty  miles  away,  at  Fingal's  Cave  upon  the  Island  of 
Staffa!  It  is  paved  with  a  peculiar  pavement  — .a  mosaic  of  basaltic 
blocks,  and  had  we  time  to  count  those  that  are  visible  they  wrould 


ON   THE    NORTH   COAST 


be  found  to  number  forty  thousand,  plus  those  in  various  museums. 
The  pavement  as  we  look  down  from  the  cliff  appears  smooth  and 
level ;  it  is  neither.  So  uneven  is  the  surface  that  should  one  stumble 
while  scrambling  over  it  one  might  tumble  many  feet.  This  pave- 
ment is  like  a  floor  of  crude  thick  tiles  —  each  one  being  the  upper- 
most of  a  series  of  superimposed  drums  forming  a  tall  column.  These 
deep-set  columns  have  been  found  similar  in  form  and  composition, 
each  one  composed  of  those  neatly  superimposed  blocks,  each  block 


33° 


IRELAND 


with  a  concave  top  or  bottom  that  fits  with  absolute  perfection  over 
or  into  the  convexity  or  the  concavity  of  the  next  block  above  it  or 
below  it.  When  concave  tops  are  exposed  to  view  they  are  found 
holding  water— little  round  pools  of  either  rain  or  spray.  The  rounded 
convex  tops,  on  the  contrary,  are  dry  and  slippery  and  afford  a 
treacherous  foot-hold  for 


ON    THE   CAUSEWAY 


the  thousands  of  sightseers  who  come  every  summer  to  see  and  mar- 
vel at  this  freak  of  the  volcanic  forces.  The  Giant's  Causeway  was 
created  by  a  volcanic  lava  flow -a  stream  of  molten  lava  pouring 
seaward,  cooling,  solidifying  and  then  cracking,  from  top  to  bottom, 
in  a  million  cracks,  with  such  an  absurd  nicety,  that  though  each 
lumn  is  separate  and  distinct  from  every  other,  yet  there  is  not  a 
hair's  breadth  of  space  between  it  and  the  columns  that  surround  it. 


IRELAND 


331 


All  are  packed  together  with  an  adjustment  that  is  perfectly  mirac- 
ulous. Most  of  them  are  either  five  or  six  sided.  One  pretty  figure, 
called  the  "Lady's  Fan,"  is  formed  by  five  pentagons  grouped  around 
a  hexagon  and  so  tightly  fitted  to  the  taller  surrounding  columns  that 
the  pool  thus  formed  holds  water.  The  guides  will  tell  you  that 


BASALTIC    PILLARS 


in  all  the  forty  thousand  columns  there  are  only  three  that  have 
nine  sides,  one  that  is  triangular  and  one  that  is  an  octagon;  the 
latter  is  regarded  as  the  keystone  of  the  Causeway.  All  these  were 
created  by  the  fan- 
tasy of  Nature  as 
she  cooled  and 
cracked  the  wave 
of  lava,  that  ages 
since,  came  rolling 
forth  from  the  hot 
earth  to  meet  the 
rolling  waves  of  the 
cold  sea.  A  bleak 
forbidding  savage 


THE       LADY 


332 


IRELAND 


scene,  this  Causeway,  backed  by  its  grim  volcanic  cliffs  and  fronted 
by  the  surge  of  angry  seas.  It  looks  a  barren  land  where  there  is 
naught  for  hunger  except  dust  and  ashes  —  naught  for  thirst  except 
the  bitter  brine  into  which  the  Causeway  disappears. 

Between  the  Causeway  and  the  rising  sun  there  stands  a  screen 
of  gorgeously  tinted  and  fantastically  carven  stone,  like  a  gigantic 
Chinese   curio   of   jade   and   amber   and    cornelian.     It   is  a 
promontory  known  as  Pleaskin  Head — it  is  composed  of 
layers  of  basaltic  rock,  each  separated  from  the  next 
above  by  layers  of  volcanic  ash  or  red  ochre 
deposited  on  top  of  each  successive  lava 
flow — looking  now  like  rich  red  currant 
jelly  in  a  slice  of  layer  cake.    Out- 
lined against  the  sky  we  see 
the  famous  "chimneys," 
which,  being  mis- 
taken  for   the 


333 


PLEASKIN    HEAD 


turrets  of  Dunluce  Castle,  were  fired  upon  by  a  ship  of  the  Span- 
ish Armada  that  cruised  along  this  coast  in  1588.  We  may  climb 
and  study  at  close  range  what  the  old  Spanish  cannon  balls  would 
have  knocked  down,  had  the  Spanish  aim  been  better.  A  closer 
study  of  the  formation  of  the  cliff  shows  us  how  the  pavement  of  the 


IRELAND 

oO^ 

Causeway  has  been  laid.  Here  nearly  four  hundred  feet  above  sea- 
level  are  found  the  same  basaltic  columns,  only  here  they  are  stripped 
far  down  revealing  the  curious  drum  formation.  The  weather  has 
been  long  at  work  upon  these  exposed  groups  of  pillars,  wearing  away 

the  less  resistant— leaving  the  stronger 
standing  in  dizzy  isolation  from 
their  huddling  fellows  which 
seem  to  draw  back  from  the 
verge   lest    they    should 
topple   into    the   great 
amphitheater     hol- 
lowed by  the  sea  in 
the  scarred  face  of 
Pleaskin  Head. 

This  amphithe- 
ater is  like  a  frag- 
ment of  the  Grand 
Canyon  of  Arizona, 
brought  hither  from 
our  southwestern 
wonderland.       Below 
we  see  the  massy  dull- 
toned  rock — then  layers 
of  that  reddish  ash,  more 
rock,  more  ochre  dust,  and 
above    all   a   range   of  pillars 
like   the    pipes    of    some    semi- 
circular church  organ. 
It  is  a  glorious   experience  to  walk 
along  the  path  that  winds  around  this  tinted  gap  and  then  winds 
eastward,  on  and  on,  through  other  scenes  of  an  infernal  loveliness. 
Along  the  topmost  ramparts  of  this  northern  wall  of  Ireland  we 
proceed  until  we  stand  at  last  upon  what  seems  the  very  roof  of 
Ireland,  with  nothing  between  us  and  the  Pole,  except  a  desolate  ex- 


THE    END    OF    IRELAND 


IRELAND 


335 


panse  of  ocean,  nothing  between  us  and  the  illusion  of  the  Aurora 
Borealis  except  that  greatest  of  all  illusions — space,  boundless 
space.  And  yet  these  solid  cliffs  are  not  more  real  than  our  illusions. 
Geologically  speaking  they  are  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow. 
A  thousand  years  is  nothing  to  geology,  and  ere  a  thousand  years 
have  passed,  this  cliff  that  boldly  fronts  the  north  wind  with  its 
sheer  and  noble  mass,  will  have  crumbled,  grain  by  grain,  as 
Pleaskin  Head  itself  long  since  began  to  crumble,  and  in  time  the 
winds  and  waves  that  beat  unceasingly  against  this  Boreal  bulwark 
of  old  Erin  will  have  done  their  work,  will  have  demolished  all  these 
rocky  castles  and  razed  them  flat  to  the  common  level  of  the  land, 
and  all  their  craggy  glories  will  have  vanished  like  the  visions  of  a 
dream.  Ireland  has  been  called  a  land  of  dreams.  The  Irish  race 

has  been  called  a 
race  of  dreamers. 
For  centuries  the 
people  of  this 
dreamland  island 
have  dared  to 
dream  of  Liberty. 
They  have  at  last, 
after  a  struggle 
that  has  been  be- 
queathed from 
generation  to  gen- 
eration, made  their 
drtam  of  liberty 
come  true.  Out  of 
the  long  nightmare 
of  injustice,  perse- 
cution, discontent, 
revolt  and  insur- 
rection has  come 
the  promise  of  the 


THE    WORK    OF   THE    WAVES 


336 


IRELAND 


fulfillment  of  Ireland's  aspirations.  Irishmen  are  in  control  of 
Ireland's  destiny.  A  friendly  world  —  well-wishing  and  overflowing 
with  good-will  —  looks  on,  confident  that  the  liberty  that  has  been 
won  will  bring  to  Ireland  peace  and  prosperity,  compensation  for 
her  ancient  wrongs  and  the  full  enjoyment  of  her  modern  rights  as 
a  free  member  of  one  of  the  greatest  and  most  democratic  empires 
that  the  world  has  ever  known. 


Index  to  This  Volume 


Abbottsford,  127. 
Aberdeen,  200-205. 

Fish  Market,  204,  205. 

Marishal  College,  201,  204. 

Mitchell  Tower,  201,  205. 

Trawlers,  205. 

Union  Street,  200. 
Abject  Misery,  284. 
Achill  Island,  273-290. 
Addison,  Joseph,  54. 
Ambleside,  105. 
America,  276,  280,  285,  289. 
Amy  Robsart,  49. 
Antrim  Coast,  326,  327. 
Armagh,  272. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  104. 
Arthur,  King,  43,  62. 
Ascot  Sunday,  56,  57. 
Auld  Reekie,  159. 
Ayr,  177-181. 

Burns'  Birthplace,  180. 

Burns'  Mausoleum,  184. 

Burns'  Statue,  179. 
Backs,  The,  81. 
Ball's  Bridge,  241,  242. 
"Bally,"  299. 
Ballybunnion      Mono      Railway, 

The,  296-300. 
Ballycorus,  300. 
Balmoral,  194. 
Banbury  Cross,  75. 
Bannockburn,  Battle  of,  124,  169. 
Bath,  33. 

Beau  Brummel,  35. 
Beau  Nash,  35. 
Belfast,  322-325. 
Belfries  of  England,  269. 
Bellrois  of  France,  259. 
Ben  Nevis,  187. 
Bideford  Bay,  13. 
Blarney  Castle,  313,  317. 
Blarney  Stone,  The,  312,  314-319. 
Bothwell,  152. 
Boulter's  Lock,  56. 
Bournemouth,  19. 
Boyne,  Battle  of  the,  264,  267. 
Braemar,  195. 
Bray,  248,  249. 
British  Champions,  5. 
British  Conservatism,  105-107. 
Bruce,  Robert,  124,  125,  268. 
Bruce,  Statue-of  Robert,  165. 
Bunyan,  John,  67. 
Burns,  Robert,  165,  178-184. 
Burton,  101. 


Byron,  Lord,  80,  201. 

Caledonian  Canal,  209,  210. 

Cambridge,  47,  79-81. 

College,  Trinity,  80. 

Campaniles  of  Italy,  269. 

Carnegie,  Andrew,  155. 

Cashel,  Rock  of,  293-295. 

Castle  Combe,  32. 

Celtic  Crosses,  265-268,  269-336. 

Chapel  Hope  School,  120-122. 

Charlie,  Bonnie  Prince,  149-208. 

Cheddar,  46. 

Cheese,  47. 

Cheviots,  118,  121. 

Clip  Candlestick,  A,  96. 

Clovelly,  12-15. 

Coach  and  Ford,  109. 

Coniston,  104. 

Connemora,  290,  291. 

Cork,  319-321. 

Cormoran,  The  Giant,  9. 

Cornwall,  6,  8,  9. 

Country,  An  Out-of-Doors,  219. 

Country,  A  Worth  While,  223. 

Country,  The  Kind  Green,  110,  111. 

Country,  The  Real  WideOpen,  115. 

Covenanters,  The,  158. 

Crofters,  217,  218,  220. 

Crianlarich,  192. 

Crinan  Canal,  The,  190. 

Croker,  Richard,  245. 

Cuchullin  Hills,  221. 

Dalkey,  247,  248. 

Danes,  268,  269,  271. 

Darnley,  Henry,  140,  151,  152,  155. 

Devenish  Island,  270. 

Devonshire,  11. 

Donny brook,  246,  247. 

Dooagh,  282,  283. 

Doomsday  Book,  69. 

Dragheda,  265,  266,  267. 

Dryburgh  Abbey,  127,  128. 

Dublin,  229-241,  325. 

Bank  of  Ireland,  233,  234. 

Four  Courts,  235,  238. 

Glasnevin  Cemetery,  233,  237. 

Grattan's  Statue,  232,  234. 

Horse  Show,  238,  241-243. 

Museum  of  Irish  Antiquities,  238. 

National  Art  Gallery,  238. 

Nelson  Pillar,  231. 

New  Museum  and  Library,  235. 

O'ConnelFs  Monument,  231,  237. 

Parliament  House,  232. 

Sackville  Street,  230. 


337 


INDEX— Continued 


Shelbourne  Hotel,  238,  239. 

Stephen's  Green,  239. 

Trinity  College,  233,  234. 
Dugort,  278,  279,  280. 
Dumfries,  181,  183. 
Dunloe,  Gap  of,  310,  314. 
Edinburgh,  134-159,  325. 

Abraham  Lincoln  Monument,  157 

Calton  Hill,  135. 

Canongate,  141,  144,  147. 

Castle,  136-141. 

Charles  II,  Statue  of,  144. 

Cowgate,  153. 

David  Hume,  Tomb  of,  156,  157. 

East  Princes  Street  Gardens,  135. 

Greyfriars  Churchyard,  158. 

Holyrood  Palace,  141,  149-152. 

John  Knox  Grave,  143. 

John  Knox  House,  144,  145. 

Magnificent  Auditoriums,  154. 

Mons  Meg,  141. 

National  Gallery,  136. 

Parliament  House,  143. 

Parliament  Square,  143. 

Princes  Street,  131,  134. 

Royal  Institution,  135. 

Royal  Mile,  141. 

Scott  Monument,  129,  134. 

St.  Giles'  Cathedral,  142. 

St.  Margaret's  Chapel,  140,  141. 

Toolbooth  Prison,  144. 

University,  155. 

West  Princes  Street  Gardens,  135, 
137,  138. 

White  Horse  Close,  148. 
Edward,  Prince  of  Wales,  52,  63-65. 
Edward  III,  61,  63. 
Edward  VII,  51. 
Elizabeth,  Queen,  77,  152,  318. 
Ellen's  Isle,  185. 
Elstow,  67. 
England,  6. 

English  Riviera,  The,  11. 
Falkirk,  Battle  of,  166. 
Falstaff ,  Sir  John,  66. 
Fingal'sCave,  214,  329. 
Finished  Scenery,  116. 
Firth  of  Forth,  160. 
Flora  Macdonald,  207-209. 
"FoineDays,"  276. 
Fort  Augustus,  210. 
Forth  Bridge,  160-162. 
Fotheringay,  152. 
Friar's  Heel,  The,  29,  30. 
George  V,  64. 

Giant's  Causeway,  328-332,  334. 
Gladstone,  51. 
Glaestyngabyrig,  44. 
Glasgow,  172-176,  325. 
Glasgow  University,  175. 


Glastonbury,  42-45. 
Glastonbury,  Thorn  of,  43. 
Glastonbury  Tor,  43,  44. 
Glendalough,  250-253. 
Glengariff,  312,  315. 
Gota  Canal,  210. 
Grampian  Mountains,  194. 
Granite  City,  The,  200. 
Grasmere,  102. 
Grattan,  Henry,  234-237. 
Grattan's  Parliament,  235. 
Great  Tom,  51. 
Greater  Britain,  5. 
Greenwich,  75-79. 
Gretna  Green,  116,  117. 
Greyfriars  Bobby,  159. 
Hampton  Court,  59-61. 
Harvard,  John,  81-83. 
Hathaway,  Anne,  93. 
Haunch  of  Venison,  The,  20. 
Heart  of  Bruce,  The,  124. 
Heather,  189. 

Heating  Arrangements,  105. 
Hebrides,  Inner,  217. 
Isle  of  Skye,  216,  217. 
Henley  Regatta,  57. 
Henry  VIII,  44,  59,  77,  163. 
Highland  Lakes,  186. 
Highlands,  The,  191,  195. 
Holme,  101. 

Holy  Cross,  295,  296,  297. 
Holyhead,  229. 
Honest  Duty,  287. 
Honister  Pass,  108. 
Howth,  243. 
Ilfracombe,  11. 
Industrial  Army,  An,  288. 
Inverness,  205-209. 
lona,  211-213. 
Ireland's  Eye,  243,  245. 
Ireland's  Fairest  Valley,  294,  295. 
Ireland's  Wealth,  227. 
Irish  "Bulls,"  248,  307. 
Irish  Channel,  229. 
Irish  "Hovels,"  Charming,  257. 
Irish  Hunters,  241. 
Irish  Norway,  An,  290. 
Irish  Switzerland,  An,  290. 
I  soul  t  of  Ireland,  8. 
Ivanhoe,  133. 
Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  10. 
James  I,  61. 

James  I  of  England,  139. 
James  II,  264,  265. 
John  Bunyan,  67. 
Johnson,  Samuel,  51. 
Jordans,  66. 

Joseph  of  Arimathaea,  43. 
Keats,  John,  104. 
Keel  Constabulary,  281. 


338 


INDEX— Continued 


Kenilworth,  98. 

Kenmare,  Estate  of  the  Earl  of, 

304-306. 

Killarney,  304-312. 
"King  Maker,"  The,  98. 
Kingston,  229. 

Knox,  John,  142,  143,  145,  151. 
Kylemore  Castle,  291. 
Lady  of  the  Lake,  The,  184,  185. 
Lady's  Fan,  The,  331. 
Lake  Country,  The  English,  101- 

112. 

Lake  District  Defence  Society, 105. 
Lake  Poets,  103. 
Lakes,  Scottish,  184-189. 
Land  of  Lyonesse,  7,  8. 
Land's  End,  6. 

"Last  of  the  Barons,"  The,  97. 
Limerick,  292,  293. 
Linlithgow,  162,  164,  165. 
Lisdoonvarna,  Bridge  of,  297. 
Loch  Awe,  188. 
Loch  Katrine,  184. 
Loch  Lomond,  186,  188. 
Loch  Lubnaig,  188. 
Longleat  Park,  36. 
Looe,  9. 

Lough  Erne,  270. 
Lough  Leane,  307-309. 
Lusitania,  321,  322. 
Macbeth,  213. 

McGillicuddy's  Reeks,  310-313. 
Manchester,  Duke  of,  291. 
Mark,  King,  8. 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,   130,   140, 

150,  164. 
Meeting  of  the  Waters,  254,  311, 

313. 

Melrose  Abbey,  123,  124. 
Memories  of  Pisa  and  of  Florence, 

205. 

Moher,  Cliffs  of,  300,  302,  303. 
Monasterboice,  266-269. 
Mottha  Stone,  The,  255,  256. 
Nelson,  Horatio,  79,  231. 
New  England's  Birthplace,  61. 
Newgrange,  262-264,  265. 
New  Haven,  160. 
Oban,  211. 
O'Connell,    Daniel,    231-233,    237, 

260. 

Order  of  the  Garter,  62. 
Ovoca,  Vale  of,  254,  255. 
Oxford,  47,  55. 
Christ  Church,  51. 
Magdalen  College,  52. 
Merton  College,  55. 
Parnell,  James  Stewart,  237. 
Peat,  273,  274,  276-278. 
Penn,  William,  66,  67,  68. 


Pennsylvania,  66,  67. 
Perth,  191-194. 
Pleaskin  Head,  332-334. 
Portree,  222. 
Potatoes,  17. 
Poultry  Cross,  The,  21. 
Prince  of  Wales,  63-65. 
Quakers,  66. 
Queenstown,  321. 
Race  of  Dreamers,  A,  335. 
Rameses  The  Great,  31. 
Richard  Coeur  de  Lion,  65. 
River  Avon,  93,  97. 

Avon,  in  Wiltshire,  26. 

Ayr,  177. 

Cam,  79. 

Cherwell,  54. 

Clyde,  176,  177. 

Lee,  320. 

Liffey,  229. 

Shannon,  292,  293. 

Tay,  191-194. 

Thames,  55-59. 

Tweed,  127. 
Rizzio,  David,  151. 
Rob  Roy,  184,  185. 
Roman  Baths,  33. 
Ross  Castle,  307,  308. 
Round  Towers,  237,  251,  266-271, 

294,  295. 

Royal  Naval  College,  79. 
Rushlight,  96. 
Ruskin,  John,  51,  104. 
Salisbury,  20-26. 
Salisbury  Cathedral,  22-26. 
Salisbury  Plain,  27. 
Scilly  Isles,  7. 
Scotch  Directness,  123. 
Scotch  Humor,  170. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  126-133. 

Burial  Place,  126. 

Monument,  134. 
Scottish  Crops,  288. 
Scottish  Lakes,  184,  189. 
Scottish  Marriage  Law,  116. 
Scuir-Na-Gillean,  221. 
Selkirk  Hills,  The,  119. 
Shakespeare,  William,  84-94. 
Shakespeare  Memorial,  The,  88- 

93. 

Sheep  Fair,  A,  106. 
Sheep  Shearing,  119,  120. 
Shelly,  Percy  Byssche,  49,  104. 
Shillelagh,  256,  257. 
Shottery,  93. 

Siberian  Monotony,  326,  327. 
Silver  Strand,  The,  185. 
Skye,  Isle  of,  216,  217. 
Sligachan  Glen,  221. 
Society  of  Friends,  66. 


339 


INDEX— Continued 


Spanish  Armada,  333. 

Staffa,  211,  213-215,329. 

Stars  and  Stripes,  71. 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis,  196-199. 

St.  Andrew's  Cross,  41. 

St.  Columba,  211. 

St.  Kevin,  250-252. 

St.  Kevin's  Bed,  251-253. 

St.  Michael's  Mount,  8,  9. 

St.  Molaise,  270. 

St.  Patrick,  211,  238,  272,  310. 

St.  Patrick,  Statue  of,  260-262. 

Staigue  Fort,  262,  263. 

Standard  Clock,  76. 

Stirling,  164. 

Stirling  Bridge,  Battle  of,  165,  166. 

Stirling  Castle,  164-166,  169. 

Stonehenge,  27-32. 

Stone  of  Destiny,  261,  262. 

Stratford-on-Avon,  82-93. 

Harvard  House,  82. 

Shakespeare  House,  84. 
Sulgrave,  68-74. 
Sulgrave  Manor,  69,  71,  73. 
Tammany,  244,  246. 
Tara,  Hill  of,  259,  262. 
Tea  Serving  Industry,  The,  13. 
Tedford,  Thomas,  210. 
Teeth  of  the  Sea,  328. 
Tennyson,  Alfred,  Lord,  80-10 1. 
Their  Majesties,  64. 
Tipperary,  Vale  of,  293-295. 


Tom  Quad,  50. 

Torquay,  19. 

Treasure  Island,  196,  197. 

Treaty  of  York,  170. 

Tristram,  8. 

Trossachs,  185. 

Universal  Cuisine,  15-18. 

Victoria,  Queen,  195. 

Vikings,  268,  271. 

Wallace  Monument,  170,  171. 

Wallace,  Sir  William,  165-168,  170. 

Warwick  Castle,  97. 

Washington,  George,  69,  71,  72. 

Washingtons  of  Sulgrave,  The,  69, 

71-73. 

Waverly  Novels,  129. 
Wellington,  Duke  of,  51. 
William  the  Conqueror,  69. 
Wells,  36-42. 

Cathedral,  36-40. 

Chapter  House,  38. 

Episcopal  Palace,  42. 

Penniless  Porch,  42. 
Westmoreland,  100. 
Weymouth,  19. 
William  of  Orange,  264,  265. 
Windsor,  61. 

Wolsey,  Cardinal,  51,  59,  60. 
Wordsworth,  William,  79,  103. 
Ynysyr  Afalon,  44. 
Zero  Line,  77. 


340 


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